Posts Tagged ‘apocalypse’

Being a published author, even on the smallest of scales, remains a perpetually surreal experience.

A couple weeks ago, I attended my first book club. This experience was especially unique because it was also the first time (to my knowledge) that my book, Savages, was the book said club read that month.

Even though this book club was one a friend belonged to, sure to be hosted by equally welcoming people, I found myself nervous. I had experienced feedback on the book from people directly in my life in person and from strangers at the distance of the internet. While the response from those sources was overwhelmingly positive, I had developed coping strategies for when/if it was not. Having to receive critiques from live people who had no personal stake in my mental well being was going to be new.

Thankfully, my anxiety was largely unfounded.

The women were, as anticipated, very welcoming and friendly. Prior to our book discussion, I could have easily forgotten I was there as an author and would have had a delightful time just eating and chatting with newly met women.

When we transitioned to book discussion, I was reminded, “hey, you’re a published author.” Enter the surreal.

There were the normal questions. Where did you get the idea for this book? And so on. Every time I get the questions, I get a little better at articulating them. Especially in person. The more I’m asked about my own inspiration and process, the more I am able to analyze and define it myself.

The critiques were also relatively gentle. They wanted more, more time with the characters, more about the characters. They wanted to know what caused the apocalypse. They wanted to know what happened next. I took all of these reactions to mean I had accomplished what I wanted; I had affected them.

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Overall, it was a good experience. Like a baby step to public scrutiny.

More recently, I (or more just Savages) went to Denver Comic Con. ChaosStudios was kind enough to grant Savages a cozy little corner on her booth, as she was the artist to visualize the savages from its pages.

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Aside from it being Savages‘s convention pseudo debut, this was also my first official convention. I went to a couple misnamed events falsely claiming to be conventions when I was a belly dancer in Tennessee and Georgia. I also attended the Stanley Film Festival. Yet this was my first full fledged, official convention attendance. And a comic con, no less.

Denver Comic Con was overwhelming. We spent the duration of our time among the vendors, lost in a sea of cosplay bodies, shouted sales, and blinking geekdom. Everywhere, there was a vendor to take my money for something new and creative. The market was utterly saturated.

While our voyeur experience was enjoyable, Savages did not fair especially well. On a small corner of a non-horror art booth in a sea of visual options, it went largely unnoticed. Not even a copy sold, which was quite disappointing. Yet I could understand how it could easily happen in such an overstimulating market.

So when I was physically present at the booth on the last day, I simply distributed my cards and evaluated what made a successful booth. It was exposure, and it was a learning experience. In the end, that was enough.

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It is difficult to gauge my place on the public spectrum. I have a published book that seems to be selling; I have created a growing social media following. In short, I am infinitely farther than when I started. Yet in comparison to successful public figures, I barely seem noticeable.

Once again, just utterly surreal.

So I continue to stumble down this unknown path as an author, fumbling through a string of unfamiliar experiences. It all makes me wonder where this road will lead after my second book, The Waning, comes out in July.

Christina Bergling

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Two survivors search the ruins of America for the last strain of humanity. Marcus believes they are still human; Parker knows her own darkness. Until one discovery changes everything.

Available now on Amazon!
savagesnovella.com

TheWaning_CoverThe Waning, coming July 2015

Beatrix woke up in a cage. Can she survive long enough to escape, or will he succeed at breaking her down into a possession?

thewaning.com

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Savages is fully launched and out upon the world! ebook is released; paperback is released. And finally, I threw a launch party and book signing to commemorate it.

Rather than maintain a professional veneer of a polished, public author, I am going to be more raw in my account of my release. More personal and honest. As Savages is my debut book, I have obviously never hosed a book launch party before. I also have never attended one before. Add to that the fact that I am supposed to do something creative and different, I truly had no idea what I was doing.

I stressed about this event for months. I dreaded it. I am not the typical socially reclusive, shy, or awkward writer. I love to host parties; I enjoy attention. However, hosting something of this scale and having it all centered around a deep piece of my own brain made manifest in paper was intimidating. What if no one showed? What if nothing sold? What if people thought it was all stupid?

I just was not sure what I wanted to do, what suited my book, what best represented me, and what would attract and appease my guests. Once I abandoned my apprehension, however, it all came together.

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Ultimately, much like it was the backdrop for the story itself, I let the apocalypse be my theme. A friend suggested a taproom in an old church for the venue. Though the place was more polished and less professional than I would have preferred, it fit the theme perfectly, and I simply built from there. I set up a table at the venue. I sold and signed copies of my book. I did a raffle for book-related and survival swag. I did it open house style to keep it casual. And finally, under duress, I did a reading from my book.

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Sari NeoChaos of ChaosStudios also sold prints of the savages she drew from the pages of Savages, including a selection of prints in the raffle as well.

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Admittedly, even with a plan, I remained nervous. It was fear of the unknown. It was fear of exposure and vulnerability. It was fear of failure. However, all the planning did eventually coalesce. Though I dealt with venue issues and swag issues, in the end, none of those problems were visible.

People not only showed up; they arrived early to ensure they could purchase a copy of my book.

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And they kept coming. All told, more than 75 people showed up for the event. People from every branch of my social network made an appearance. I saw friends, family, coworkers present and past, people from high school. I would have guessed at least 25 of my people would show up; it was overwhelming to see triple that number arrive.

It was also overwhelming to interface with all of these people. It took me well over an hour to move around the room, greeting and talking to people. Though it would be a lie to say I was not basking in the attention, praise, and support. It is a rare thing in life to physically see how much you are supported, to have a gathering of people just to wish you well. I did not let such a moment pass me by unnoticed or unappreciated.

I was woefully under stocked for the turn out. I had wrestled with how many copies of my book to purchase, how much swag to make. Unsure of the amount of guests, I did not want to come home with a stack of my own books, but I also did not want so many to leave empty handed. The copies of my book I did have sold out in the first 20 minutes of the event. I had to keep them covered until the event actually started.

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Having your book sell out in minutes is not a bad problem to have. Having people upset that there were not enough copies is also not a bad problem to have. I would have preferred to have been better prepared, but I am not unhappy to have created demand or the need for additional signings.

And I donated half of the money. Not the money I made but all of the money. I donated it to Wounded Warrior Project where it belonged.

It was a surreal feeling to sign my own books as well. Asking people how to spell their names felt foreign. I had to force myself not to concentrate on my own signature, lest I foul it up. The entire experience was just deeply weird for as much as I always wanted it.

I was immersed in being social, but I later found out that the bar was providing very substandard service. Numerous people left due to being served painfully slowly or not at all. This would later explain why so few people lasted until the raffle. The place was packed; I filled it up for about the first hour or so. Then they gradually all disappeared.

We raffled, nonetheless.

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We doled out the Savages keychains, the last signed copy in the house, the prints from ChaosStudios, and the stocked bug out bag. I would have been content to happily conclude the night there as a success. However, the public demanded a reading.

I did not want to read. I was sick and losing my voice. I did not want to hear myself in that microphone or read from my book. It should be the easiest thing ever, to read my own words. I read the full book to my husband twice while I was drafting it. Yet, somehow, I was intimidated once again. Yet the audience would not be dissuaded.

I had selected a passage for such a contingency; however, with the sellout, I had to borrow a copy of my own book to read from. I stood behind the microphone and shakily read my own words to the crowd that remained. Quickly at first, the words leaping off my tongue to make room for the next, sprinting toward the end. Then I slowed myself, allowed myself to fall back into the story I lived in for months writing it. I let my eyes flit up from the words to see them smiling at me, pointing their phones up at me.

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As I read my own words in my own published book in front of crowd that came to see and support me, it all felt real again.

Thank you to all who celebrated with me, in person or in spirit; I deeply appreciate you.

So the zombies rose to plague the living, but it was no apocalypse. The world did not end. The living were somehow able to battle back the hordes of the undead. Hey, it could happen; think World War Z (the book, not the movie).

Now, in the aftermath, there is that messy question of what to do with all the leftovers? The zombies still shambling around, the pieces strewn far and wide, maybe even the infected zombie animals. Sure, we could double tap them all right in the brain and burn the remains, but that just seems wasteful (and boring). And what are zombies about if not recycling parts (get it: reanimated bodies)?

So, in the spirit of adaptation and reuse, I give you 5 things to do with the lingering zombies after the apocalypse failed to actually end the world:

Weapons of War

What do we humans do maybe best of all throughout time? Figure out evolving and creative ways to kill each other. Guns, bombs, landmines, biological pathogens—if nothing else, we are innovative when it comes to the demise of our species-mates. Why not include the undead to the regiment?

Imagine, if you will, a battlefield led by the snarling, chomping, flesh-hungry masses that require no food, no quarter, no rest. Sure, they also completely lack cognition and loyalty, but with the proper direction, they could be unleashed on the opposing force.

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Not to mention the more covert precision insertion of a zombie. A zombie smuggled into a secure facility could mean secure facility down. Zombies could be dropped in the night into sleepy, unsuspecting towns to annihilate the population in mere days.

Entertainment Fighting

Zombie fight club. Zombie cage matches. Zombie gladiators. The variation possibilities are nearly endless. Perhaps zombies could be made to fight other zombies (gambling involved, of course). More likely, zombies would be obstacles for the living, either released gladiator style on the peripheral of a more central fight or as the direct contest.

Zombie fighting could become an entire entertainment industry. It could be conducted on a grand scale in large arenas, getting us to truly channel our savage gladiator-loving roots. It, no doubt, would be televised (most likely on pay-per-view) and YouTubed. Foolish children would be trying to emulate the greats, making their own home movies that ended with them getting chomped on by a zombie and racking up millions of hits.

Scientific Experimentation

Sure, zombies are not living tissue. OK, they are not exactly human anymore. But surely, a reanimated human body more closely imitates a human body than a pig or rat. With a horde of zombies laying around, we might not even need to worry about testing on animals anymore. We could use those undead bodies for all sorts of medical and scientific experimentation, consumer product testing. If a shampoo could give a zombie radiant, shining locks, there’s no doubt it would be a top seller. If lipstick could stay on through the ravaging of a screaming victim, it truly never rubs off on his collar.

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At the very least, there is the ever-constant search for a cure for zombies. With enough doctors, maybe they could restore zombies to the living before they figured out how to cure cancer.

Crash Test Dummies

Not dissimilar from scientific experimentation, zombie bodies being formerly human bodies could be used to gauge damage done in things like car accidents. Zombies would bring the fleshy (though rotting) tissue and animated rigidity that normal crash test dummies simply lack. And you know if a zombie gets dispatched in a car accident, there is no way a breathing human would ever survive.

Why not zombies shot into space? Save the monkeys. Surely there’s not an ethical consideration if the alternative was to put two in their skull and set their finally limp bodies ablaze.

Perimeter Defense

What is more of a deterrent than zombies? Put a shambling biter on a runner outside your house to discourage a midnight burglar. Leave staggering bodies in a vacant store, ever vigilant for any sound of a living soul who should not be there. Equip these zombie guards with webcams, and you could eliminate the need for a night watchman.

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Even better, create a zombie moat. Imagine, if you will, a deep trench around your property filled with a teeming mass of gasping bodies. You never have to feed them; you never have to make sure there are enough. All you have to do is dump in the dead and let them pace relentlessly in the ground around your site. No one is going to dare crawl down there to get across. As long as you can ignore or mask the noise of those wheezing walkers, it is perfect high security.

Perhaps around a bug out location for when the apocalypse really comes.

 

So before you double tap those bullets in a rotting skull, stop to consider how you could recycle that pitiful zombie (a second time). Grandma need not perish completely unnecessary when you could keep her around as a mobile scarecrow to would-be intruders through your backyard; think of the lives she could save being ejected from a demolished car or the joy she could bring consumers in finding the right formula in hair products.

Don’t waste the dead.

What other purposes could you find for a zombie?

Sweet Success

Posted: December 23, 2014 in writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher did extensive writing lessons. We wrote different formats of poetry. We even wrote and published our own short stories, which included printing and illustrating the pages then binding them together. It was in this class that I realized I wanted to be an author.

I always wrote. I kept a journal compulsively over the years. I wrote short stories that I would pass around to my friends in spiral notebooks between junior high classes. I placed in every writing contest to which I ever submitted.

Writing came easy to me. It was just what I did. And all I wanted to do.

I pursued writing in college, of course. I took every creative writing class they offered (beside poetry). I caused controversy when I made a satire out of suicide. It was just not enough for a career, and I surely could not make a living off of what I was producing and publishing.

After college, I faced a fork in my writing life. I was offered a job as a technical writer for a Department of Defense contractor and as a community writer assistant at a newspaper. It was write for salary and benefits or write for the hope of doing what I love eventually.

I chose salary and benefits; I sold my writing soul for comfort.

And I do not regret that decision, though I do sometimes wonder what if. I have financed a beautiful life; I have supported the growth of my family. I have been comfortable. And eventually, that comfort left me to be able to write my first book.

The seed was planted during my brief civilian deployment to Iraq (another side effect of the soul selling). I went to train soldiers on software but ultimately ended up just writing software user manuals in a trailer in a war zone. I didn’t see any action, but I was immersed into military wartime culture, exposed to things that never could seem so real on the news. My three months there changed everything, shifted every perspective I had.

Later, I nurtured this unconsummated idea with full season marathons of The Walking Dead (complete with my gothic belly dancers for company and lots of booze). The way The Walking Dead explored the survivors made me question the ideas of humanity I had seen in a war zone.

What would we become without all our civilization? What are we really underneath all the comfortable pretense?

And so my novella, Savages, was born.

The story infected me. I woke in the middle of the night to write sections and scenes. I lived inside it.

Then, on a whim, at the recommendation of a dear friend, I entered Savages into a contest from Assent Publishing. I placed as a finalist; I won a publishing contract. It all happened, and my dream since fourth grade was finally realized.

And a year later, after promoting and prepping and editing and reviewing, Savages is released!

SavagesCoverChristinaI cannot wait until next month, when I can hold the paperback copy in my hands. Maybe then it will feel less surreal than sales numbers on an ebook. Maybe then it will feel like I have finally made it to being a published author.

Find Savages on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Savages-Christina-Bergling-ebook/dp/B00R8YRBYY

I could hear them waiting, their shifting feet crunching on the dead rocks and sticks around us. There was always audience around. This was not fighting in its purest conflict; it was fighting for sport. It was violence as entertainment. In what was left of the world, they had nothing better to do.

We fought to survive each day, but then we watched others fight to unwind.

The adrenaline was already reaching thin, excited strands down my veins. My heart was already fluttering into an agitated rhythm, just knowing what was waiting. I fought night after night, smashing my swollen knuckles into another face, for the food to fight the next day. Yet the anxiety never faded; the nerves never steeled.

Above the tremors starting in my muscles, I felt my stomach tightening and writhing, tugging down on my esophagus towards the empty pit in my gut. Vacant, hollow, fucking starving.

I tried to swallow the acid bubbling up my throat and focus on the plate that would be on the other side of this fight.

Then he was gesturing towards me, beckoning me to emerge from the shadows of the trees out into the light of the large bonfire where they could see me. I could see the shifting figures now, mumbling and cheering in anticipation. The fire crackled beside them, sending embers into the black sky. I breathed out hard into that dark sky and watched my breath curl in front of and away from me.

I clapped my hands together and swung my arms back and forth as I had always seen boxers do on TV, imitating numerous people probably dead and rotting under the twisted wreckage.

My opponent looked even more scraggly and desperate than I imagined myself. I had seen myself in the dusty reflection of a shattered window months ago, and it had terrified me. Yet even in that dilapidated state, I was not this emaciated, wild-eyed shell of a man.

He held his hands up in gnarled, shaking fists. I could have underestimated him had other ragged opponents not crept out of starvation to nearly pummel me into the dirt below us.

He did not disappoint. He came at me fast and direct, flying across the dirt and dead pine needles in a flurry of long punches. I lifted my arms defensively over my face and felt his arms collide painfully with my forearms. I let him burn it out. I let him pound his fists into my rounded back.

I knew none of our fatigued and deprived muscles could perform for long.

The crowd grew restless around us. I was not entertaining them. They wanted my fight, my pain to distract them from the dismal world all around us.

The pain rolled over me in waves. Each impact from his fists or his feet rippled through my nerves. My instincts screamed to react, to heed the whine of the patrons, to perform. But I had to stick to the tried and true method. I had to fight my impulse and wear him out. Then I could eat.

I felt his blows waning. I watched his bare feet as I curled under my defensive arms. His footsteps were staggering. He could see the finish line and was seduced by the thought of that food. My food.

When I saw one of his arms dangle at his side, I knew it was time. The audience had nearly given up on me. Stray conversations had started among the crowd; the energy had shifted away from us. When there was a pause in his assault, I stood up tall again and dove my fist into his lower jaw. I felt his jaw collide with his skull, heard his teeth snap together. He toppled back surprised and stunned.

And the crowd exploded in cheers.

They loved me once more; they always loved me when the momentum switched. They were drunk off the violence, wrapped up in the sport.

In a blur of exploding instincts and ravenous hunger, I was on top of him, pounding my fists into his face. I felt the flesh contort below each blow, felt his blood wetting my knuckles. With each strike, the audience became more alive. The world was just this moment, and they lived for what I was doing to this other desperate survivor.

I lived for him to stop moving and for the plate to be placed in front of me.

Finally, his arms stopped flailing up on me. Finally, his breathing dropped to sad sputter. He fell limp beneath me, and the fight was over.

I had won. Dinner was mine.

This is just a glimpse at what entertainment might become in the apocalypse. My upcoming novella, Savages, follows two survivors through the search for others in the apocalypse.

When it comes to preparation for the apocalypse, it is more than just canned goods and a bug out plan. Mental fortitude and well stocked supplies are crucial pieces of the survival picture; however, physical conditioning is just as important. All the well laid plans will not save you if you cannot outrun a zombie or assailant.

With the importance of physical preparedness in mind and included in my full apocalypse prepping, I give you my apocalypse anticipatory workout.

(*Note: I have no personal training experience or exceptional fitness expertise, so take this as you will…)

Cardio

Rule #1: Cardio. We all know it. We did not even need Zombieland to tell us (though it was awesome and hilarious to see). Whether you are sprinting to safety with a zombie on your heels or chasing down your dinner or nomadically trekking across the country, you need the endurance and conditioning (the cardio) to sustain the task at hand.

You would think that running and speed would be crucial, and it is important. However, the apocalypse (like a horror movie franchise) is a marathon, not a sprint. Yes, you will be running and fleeing and evading. More often, you will probably just be moving. Probably constantly moving, traveling on foot.

As such, you need to prepare for both.

For my apocalypse workout, cardio will be on day #1 because it is rule #1. It will also be on an additional two days (making it the majority of my routine) because it is the more crucial. First, a long distance run to truly build endurance. Next, running speed work, sprinting and increasing my pace. Then, a very long walk to include intense hills and/or a long hike, conditioning for a nomadic lifestyle that could include a variety of terrains.

Weights/Strength Training

Cardio may be the priority, but resistance training (weights, strength training, whatever you want to call it) also serves an important role. Most simply, you need to be able to carry your supplies. A properly stocked bug out bag is going to be hefty; nonperishable food and water is always heavy.

If you are going to be living a nomadic lifestyle, for instance, you need the cardio to do the moving, but you also need the muscle conditioning to hold everything you need to survive. Even just holding a weapon every waking moment requires a certain amount of musculature.

For my routine, I will include at least two strength training sessions. Once a week, I will devote an entire workout (over an hour) to a full body routine, working each muscle group in two sets to failure. One shorter upper body session paired with a plyometrics workout and one shorter lower body session paired with a cardio day.

Plyometrics

Jumping is important. Plyometrics serves as cardio in its aerobic nature (leaves me panting half to death) but also builds the muscle power. This sort of conditioning would be helpful in any survival situation.

I personally hate plyo. I loather jumping (and also suck at it). But I appreciate its value, so I will include it, paired with an upper body weight workout, once a week. I will probably do the bare minimum to satisfy the workout, but I will try to push myself to do as much as I can take.

Climbing

Climbing (on the comfort of an indoor climbing wall pre-apocalypse) works the entire body, from the flexing fingertips to the gripping toes. That, in itself, is useful. However, climbing as a skill would be helpful in the apocalypse. Without conveniences like elevators or vehicles or anything of that nature, there might be plenty of times the ability to climb would be beneficial. Plus, the knowledge could help mitigate the fear.

So up and down the indoor climbing wall to start. One day, maybe, I will confront my deeply seeded biological phobia of heights and try for the real thing. Preferrably prior to the necessity of the apocalypse.

Yoga

Yoga, for me, is for both the body and the mind. However, in the scope of an apocalypse workout, it would be for the body. Healthy muscles and connective tissues are stretched.

At the conclusion of each of my apocalypse workouts, I will do enough yoga to take care of my body and also subsequently calm my mind.

Rest

There will be no rest during the apocalypse, so before that comes, there will be a designated day of rest in my weekly workout routine. The muscles need time to recuperate; the body needs time to recover. I would like to say I would spend this restful time productively, clean living and what have you. However, truthfully, it will probably include drinking beer, watching shameful TV, and indulging in all the creature comforts I will miss post apocalypse.

My upcoming book, Savages, talks about the physical demands of surviving the apocalypse.

What would your apocalypse workout include?

First, people were on edge. They did not smile as they crossed paths, if they ever did. They talked but only about “it,” what was happening all around us. Our entire society was fixating, waiting the end coming slamming down around us the same way we obsessed over celebrity divorces, political scandal, or the Sunday football game. There was even enough time for the apocalypse to become parody on YouTube and Saturday Night Live before everything collapsed around us.

People didn’t take it seriously at first, didn’t acknowledge it was really happening until it was done. There was no way the world was ending. As always, we were a culture of denial, a culture of short sight and no consequences. Yet now, every consequence was looming over us as we laughed in their faces. As we were poised to get what we deserved.

Television and radio probably lasted the longest, programming still streaming away until being overtaken by 24-hour news updates. We knew it was over when the air went black, when the flickering flat faces and their voices stopped. The death of media was in parallel with the death of everything. The last cockroach to keel over.

Conveniences went first, like the social niceties, the few people feigned to begin with. It was all a preview of the humanity we would lose. First, we would stop being polite; later, we would stop being human. First, we would shove someone out of the way; later, we would cut them open. The apocalypse wore away on us in stages, the same way it ate away at the world around us. Again, all while we told ourselves it wasn’t happening. We were still human, and the world was not ending.

We all longed for the world we did not appreciate, the society we mocked and cursed.

When civil services dropped off, we truly descended into chaos. It was like a classroom without a teacher, a toddler out of sight of a parent. With no one watching, with no one punishing, we revealed our true nature. At first, we went crazy with freedom, looting stores to finally lay hands on the coveted items we could not earn. Then we became desperate, clawing and maiming to scratch at a can of food.

We weren’t people anymore; we were survivors.

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Once the cities were stripped and the bodies stacked up, our culture, our society was nothing but a wasteland. Everything we were, our buzzing clockwork of existence, was reduced to relics, empty shells to remind us of what we used to be. Grocery stores were only the bare bones of shelves. Electronics were piled up dead and useless. Our cute little suburban houses were reduced to ashes.

What emerged instead was no longer a society, could not be called a culture. It was transient and adaptive, human nature itself manifest. All the ways we were taught to behave–manners, rules, norms, expectations–were worthless and forgotten, abandoned in a fraction of the time it took to cultivate them. For all the work our parents and our culture did, it all meant nothing now. Those who clung to those ideas, tried to emulate the lost world died first and fast.

Survivors were something new, something empty and untrained. We were reduced to instinct and reaction. Our behavior was determined by one influence–survival. It only mattered what it took to see the next day, what put a fraction of food in our mouths. Those of us who survived, who remembered the way it was before the fall, only strove to forget.

It was too painful to remember.

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*

When the apocalypse comes, what do you think will be the first thing to go?

My partner has a not-so-secret belief that I am a serial killer. Not in a “maybe you were in a past life” sort of way but more an active on the down low sort of way. Dexter-style, if you will.

His suspicions arise from my sadistic streak and my talent for manipulation. I am no serial killer, however. Instead, I think I am just more in touch with my inner savage nature; I am more honest about what am I at my core. That intimacy with my own primal self is what helped me write my book, Savages.

Whichever way you slice it, this part of me is the backbone to our apocalypse plan.

The idea started easily enough. We were watching some apocalyptic movie or TV show (both of which are steady in our entertainment diet). He made some comment that he might not be able to do all the killing required; he would not want to. To this, I replied simply, “Well, baby, I’m going to handle all that; you think I’m the serial killer, remember?”

From this hatched our hypothetical division of post-apocalypse duties.

My partner has wanted to purchase land for years. He would like to permanently reside self-sufficient on said land. Only, tragically, he would have to do so without me, so the compromise is to live in civilization and own said land for vacation and, of course, the apocalypse. Even without an imminent threat or an unavoidable need, he simply enjoys things like living off the grid, farming his own food, improvising conveniences, camping, and survival skills.

Obviously, since he already harbors an interest and enjoyment of these would-be necessities, he would be in charge of managing the related tasks. He would procure our drinking water, grow our crops, engineer devices for our survival.

That leaves me with what he thinks I already secretly indulge: I would be in charge of the killing.

Killing in a post-apocalyptic world would be unavoidable. It could be animals to eat, but, even more likely, it would be other survivors for survival. With creature comforts eliminated and resources restricted, when we all devolve to our savage roots, there will be (many) times it will be kill or be killed. After just the briefest and most peripheral exposure to people at war in Iraq, I believe this would undoubtedly be true should the entire world fall.

So it is a win-win. My partner is able to avoid the dirty work, and I am allowed an acceptable and productive outlet for the darkness he thinks is at my core.

And if I am driven to savagery and survival, I am going to be savage. I told my partner that I wanted to line the far perimeter of our land with the heads of those who had attacked us (and I dispatched) on pikes, as a warning. He only lamented that this approach would require him to make pikes, impale severed heads with them, and plant them in the ground.

I told him I would do the decapitating for him.

Survival is a high stress situation. It is best to have a plan, especially with your family (or established survival group). My partner and I have been together a long time; we know each other and our various talents and proclivities rather well. Yet, I feel more comfortable having discussed our basic plan and division of labors, as joking as it may have been. We have kids and dogs to keep alive; we cannot be wasting time bickering over whose turn it is to kill the latest threat.

Who would start in your survival group? How would you divide duties?

I have a guilty pleasure: sexual tension and ill-fated romance in horror and apocalypse stories. So deep does my secret affinity run that it manifests as a major line in my own book (Savages). I simply cannot help myself.

Do not misread me; I am not looking for classic romance. I do not want a happy ending; I do not want courting or dating or any of that drama. Even if part of me is rooting for ultimate consummation or for the characters to end up together, I am always secretly satisfied when it goes so terribly awry. I think it is less about the actual romantic element and more about the juxtaposition of it within a terrifying or catastrophic scenario. It is normalcy in the traumatically abnormal.

Sexuality is also very primal, very base, which runs completely in line with survival, be it surviving a killer, the apocalypse, zombies, whatever. It seems appropriate to acknowledge and include that instinct while exploiting the others. It makes the scenario and the characters seem all the more real to us.

Humans are hooking up in every scenario; you cannot stop us. And when in real life does it ever play out like a romantic comedy? It is all the more accurate to be messy, ill-fated, or unrequited.

When I wrote my own book, the sexual tension between the characters is where the story began to blossom in my head. In a post-apocalyptic world slim on survivors, with all the normal world and distractions stripped away, I was able to concentrate on two elements: survival and her attraction to him. For me, the survival was the setting, and the attraction was the story.

And that is because of this guilty little pleasure I have. Clearly, however, I am not the only one, as this element does appear in horror and apocalypse stories.

For horror, Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling immediately come to mind, whether in the novels or the movies. In Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal is clearly intrigued by Clarice and her intelligence, in a similar way he was by Will Graham in Red Dragon. In both instances, he wants to toy with the other while also teaching them, minimally helpful manipulation.

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However, his interactions with Clarice take on that additional level of sexual tension. Hannibal is aroused by her vulnerability, hungry for her specific psychological damage and idiosyncrasies, a level he never achieved with Will. I think this sexual tension and Hannibal’s attraction to Clarice is what makes their dynamic so interesting and convincing.

By Hannibal, Hannibal’s romantic attraction is fully realized and no longer relegated to simple sexual tension in their interactions. In the movie, he sacrifices his hand to spare Clarice hers; in the book, he drugs her and spirits her away to live with him in the jungle. By this point, it got a little too romantically centered for me but was still enjoyable.

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The sexual tension in Silence of the Lambs was much more engaging and entertaining that the outright romantic pursuits of Hannibal, but throughout the franchise, that sexuality is a strong element between the characters and in the plot. Hannibal being my favorite fictional serial killer does not hurt either.

As far as apocalypse, (let’s go mainstream, why not?) The Walking Dead fully exploits the soap opera of human sexuality in a apocalypse survival scenario. The Walking Dead being such a sensation and its success bringing it so mainstream does always lead to more interpersonal drama, a tactic to entice outside the initial target audience. Yes, I have the zombie lovers, but if I have a little romance, let me hook those on the fence too.

The first instance of sexuality and romantic drama in The Walking Dead was the love triangle between Rick, Lori, and Shane. Rick wakes up to the zombie apocalypse and hunts down his family, only to find his wife entangled with (and impregnated by) his partner, Shane. Definitely soap opera worthy but enticing all the same. The scenario is also pretty realistic. If you thought your husband/partner was dead, would you not consider finding comfort with one another?

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The relationship between Glenn and Maggie is probably the longest and most explored in the series. They start as convenient fuck buddies on the farm (sex always happens during lulls in combat, right?) then develop into a full romantic relationship. They get separated and reunited; they make horrible and dangerous decisions based on their love for each other. Again, this crosses my unrequited, inappropriate romance line (for my own personal affinity); however, it is still very effective. It gets the audience invested in them, rooting for them (and hence hooked on the show).

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I, personally, think sexual tension and romance has a place in horror and apocalypse. It attracts my interest and also makes the scenarios and character seem more authentic to me. Even facing the end of the world, given a moment to breathe, I believe humans will continue to be sexually driven. Oh, it seems the zombies are gone for the moment; how about a roll around in an empty pharmacy?

However, I think the inclusion of this element must be applied properly. Too much or too idealistic and it violates the genre; too little and it is lost and its purpose is unrealized. It needs to augment the plot and play off of the survival scenario; if it takes over as the story, it becomes too much.

Hopefully I succeeded in doing just that in my own work.

Consider the my to-do list. Consider this my plan to start preparing.

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Let’s say the zombies started shambling tomorrow, staggering stiff-limbed and rotting through the streets, clawing and wheezing and chomping their teeth. Would you be prepared, or would you be lost in the panic?

Would I be ready? Today, absolutely not. I think about preparing; I muse about preparing; I even talk about preparing. Yet I lack in follow through. Like so many, I fall victim to complacency. Sure, the zombie apocalypse looks terrifying (and entertaining) on my lovely flatscreen TV, but surely that won’t happen tomorrow! Or even the next day. I tell myself that I have time.

However, when the apocalypse comes (zombie or no), there will be no announcement; there will be no gradual transition. It will crash down, and you will either be prepared or not.

So I am taking the first step in zombie apocalypse preparedness; I am making my ideal plan.

When the undead begin clawing at my door, or even when I see them teeming nearby on the news, my first priority will be to gather supplies and GET OUT. I love to live in a city, to be near activities and around people and community. However, in the apocalypse, for all their resources, cities are suicide. The more resources, the more people. The more people, the more zombies.

Most importantly, once civilization falls away, you need to survive the other survivors just as much, if not more than, the threat. People turn savage when their resources are threatened, when they legitimately fear for their lives or even their way of life. It is best to band with a group of well-known family or friends and strike out, getting as far away from the dangerous masses as possible.

Plus, if the zombies are infectious, a city is the easiest place to get infected. Priority #1 is to BUG OUT.

To enable me to bug out with ease, I have to be prepared. I will need bug out bags properly packed and stocked at the ready. Most importantly including water purification and food rations and enough for the whole family. We need to be able to snatch up those packs and move at the earliest possible moment to avoid being caught in the surge of refugees.

Beyond the elemental basics of food and water, these bug out bags need to contain provisions for shelter during travel, basic tools, and (perhaps next most importantly) weapons. Guns are extremely effective but require ammunition and attract attention by sound. Silent, reusable alternatives like blades or blunt objects should definitely be included, multiples based on size and weight.

Packed down and bugged out, the next priority would be travel. I would want to move as camouflaged and subtly as possible, making my way apart from the other survivors and zombies. I would want to cover as much ground as possible to put distance between myself and the majority. Being economical with resources and rest would help to maximize the progress made. The goal would be to put down miles without attracting attention.

Ultimately, I would need a bug out location. I would want this property to be remote, secluded, not easily discovered. A cabin in the mountains would be ideal (and would have plenty of non-apocalypse uses beforehand). There would always be the risk that other refugees would find it before I arrived, so I would have to be prepared to either share or reclaim my cabin.

My bug out location would need to be properly stocked. I would want more rations, tools, and weapons, but they would need to be hidden or disguised enough to not be fully exploited by the time I got there. And I would need to be able to protect them once I was on site. I would want either enough rations or enough means to procure rations (hunting, growing, what have you) for me (and my group) to survive at the cabin long term.

The goal would be to resettle in a new and safe location. However, depending on the apocalypse and the duration and severity of the aftermath, that might not be an option. In many scenarios, nomadism might be the most effective survival strategy. Stationary and too comfortable invites threats and most often other desperate survivors, especially the longer after the event. I would need to be prepared to replenish the bug out bags and keep moving.

If settling at the bug out location, I would need to be prepared and staged for self-sustaining existence. I would need a water source. I would need a steady procurement of food, either by growing, gathering, or hunting. I would need to be well fortified and protected.

However, if I was unable to stay and had to continue moving, I would need to be staged to exploit my bug out location and carry the provisions with me. I would need to adapt to a nomadic way of life and find ways to continually find resources on the road. I would need water purification means that would be lightweight and small and could be continually applied to varying water sources. I would need weapons that were reusable and easy to carry; I would want back ups in case one was lost or taken from me. I would need portable shelter and clothing for the different climates I would move through.

Hopefully, all these preparations would keep me (and my group) alive long enough to learn how to live in the new world. Surviving the apocalypse would be about longevity and adaptation. Things would never go back to how they were, so the greatest long term preparation I could have would be the aptitude to survive in whatever was on the other side.

So, tell me, what is my plan missing?