Weapons Writing Research

I'm currently working on a new urban fantasy novel set in my hometown of Milwaukee. Weapons aren't my area of expertise and my characters are going to need some badass metal to defend themselves against the Dark Fae and other enemies. Fortunately, the Milwaukee Public Museum has a wonderful weapons exhibit, Beyond the Blade, going on now through January 1, 2018. The exhibit has over 180 examples of weaponry from fifty countries, spanning 10,000 B.C.E. to the 20th Century and explores weapons used as tools, defense, and cultural symbols. Among my favorites are the Knight's Templar sword, an arrow from Custer's Last Stand, and a pirate's sword. 

I thought I'd share some of my photos in hopes they inspire your own stories. If you are in the Milwaukee area between now and January, check out this phenomenal exhibit. And if you can't get here, stop by your local history museum for some great research. Nothing beats the experience of seeing a weapon in person, rather than in a one dimensional photograph.

Write for Rights 2017 with Amnesty International

My writing is my super power.

I don't have a fancy cape and a cool secret identity, but I do have an internet connection and like to think I write faster than a speeding bullet. I'd love to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I doubt that's happening any time soon. *smirk* Instead, I use my writing to fight injustice, something we all can do.

Amnesty International is a human rights organization with chapters around the world fighting injustice, crimes against humanity, corrupt government, and censorship.

Their annual Write for Rights Campaign is going on now through December 31, 2017. People around the world will come together to fight injustice and celebrate Human Rights Day on December 10, 2017. Amnesty International has chosen ten cases for the letter writing campaign, but you can also write for justice in other cases as well. Anyone of any age can sign up to participate or host a writing event. Below are this year's cases. Click the link to read more information about each person and join me in participating. Together, we can change the world.

Stop China's harassment of Ni Yulan. 

Ask Egypt to drop charges and free Hunan.

Ask Finland to change their law and support 

Transgender Rights.

Demand Honduras protect Milpah now.

Write Israel to drop charges against Farid and Issa.

Overturn Clovis's sentence in Madagascar
immediately.

Demand Turkey drop charges against the
Istanbul 10 and free them immediately.

Demand Chad release Mahadine immediately.

Demand justice for Xulhaz.

Demand Jamaica protect Shackelia
and seek justice for people murdered by police.

Top 5 Reasons I’m Looking Forward to the Zombie Apocalypse by J. Whitworth Hazzard

It’s a little weird to admit that I’m a fan of disaster. When you write a zombie apocalypse novel, like DEAD SEA GAMES (published by BHC Press), you have to be. But all that chaos and mayhem and death. How could you be so callous and cruel? Would it help if I told you that it’s not all bad? I’m a glass-half- full kind of guy. There’s a bit of upside and comedy to almost any situation if you look hard enough, and I’m betting I can get you to agree with me on at least a few good things to come out of the approaching apocalypse.

I think a proper, old-fashioned, burn civilization to the ground kind of reckoning might clear the air around here. To be clear, I’m specifically a fan of a zombie apocalypse. Oh, other apocalypses have their sexy bits sure, nuclear war mutants, asteroid craters, and alien battle cruisers, but zombies have heart. Zombies are us; humanity boiled down to its ugliest, ravenous essence. So when your neighbors turn and start knocking on your door looking for brains to devour, here are some things you can look forward to:

5. No more politics.

We get so angry over who voted for who and how they’re screwing up this country that watching the news or going on Twitter is likely to cause an aneurysm. I’ll tell you something even a reality-TV- star-made- President will recognize: once the zombies roam the streets there’s no politician in the world that’s going to come save your butt. Just imagine it, a world where there’s no left or right or Conservative or Liberal, or even those cheeky libertarians, just the living and the dead. Politics is going to get real personal in the aftermath, just you and whatever survivors you can round up will get to vote on all kinds of things a lot easier than tax code and deficits. Word of advice…don’t vote for the Cannibal party!

4. No more school or work.

This is probably the biggest upside for our protagonist, Jeremy, in DEAD SEA GAMES. Overactive teenage boys aren’t traditionally that fond of high school, so having school canceled…well, forever, is a pretty nice trade-off for fighting the undead. I know some of you out there get pretty pumped for second year Spanish and Pre-calculus, but there’s no translating zombie to English, my friends. And let’s face it, for us adults that permanent sick leave status is going to be a big load off our shoulders. And you won’t even have to fill out any FMLA paperwork. Suck it, HR.

3. No more commute.

If you’ve lived in the big city like I have, that daily commute can seem as bad as death. All right so work is canceled, but that still leaves the highways clogged and your attempt to get out of New York City in a car or subway is a suicide mission. Why bother? Just sit home and wait until all those juicy morsels sitting in their cars and trains are chomped into fresh zombie chow. Problem solved. Sure, there’s going to be thousands of derelict cars and trucks on the road hampering your style, but there’s nowhere safe to go anyway so you might as well skip the commute and ride your bike to the survival bunker.

2. No more Thanksgiving.

This one is especially sweet to all those fellow introverts out there. It’s not just the awkward Thanksgiving dinner with your racist uncle, it’s all the horrible work Christmas parties, mystery casserole church potlucks, and cringe-worthy wedding receptions for friends you stopped hanging out with a decade ago. All those social gatherings that are the underpinning of a polite society in which we pretend to like people that creep us out are all going away. Come to think of it, after the zombie apocalypse safely weeds out the unexpected dinner guests, you can safely shoot anyone (or anything) that darkens your doorstep while you’re sitting down to feast on a roast cat and stuffed pigeon.

1. No more f*#$ing bills.

I’m not going to lie. You’re really going to have to brush up on your bartering skills to get ahead, but if you can trade batteries for bullets with a straight face, then maybe the zombie apocalypse is for you. Sure, you’re going to have to brain a lot of disgusting deadheads who want to rip your face off with their teeth, but oh imagine the sweet, sweet freedom of no mortgage payments and no student loans and no insurance deductibles. The thought of burning those stuffed envelopes that never stop coming is almost worth encouraging a few meth heads to bite each other to get this thing started. Twenty-three percent interest? Usage fees? Convenience fees? College textbooks you never even open? What a bunch of bullshit. I’d trade blood-sucking corporate vampires for zombies any day.

Dark jokes and gallows humor may not be your style, but it’s a way for me to cope with the horrors just over the horizon. Just remember that even in the darkest times, we have the capacity to look for the silver lining. Humans are, at our core, creatures of hope. It is that spirit of resiliency you can see in the survivors I created in the world of DEAD SEA GAMES. The orphaned teenagers find a way to turn tragedy into adventure, and with a little bit of mystery, magic, and bravado their journey is nothing short of
heroic. Enjoy the apocalypse!

PRAISE FOR DEAD SEA GAMES

…a thrilling story, and a call to look beyond the simplistic, one that’s going to keep you reading and guessing the outcome.

~ Readers'  Favorite

ABOUT DEAD SEA GAMES

The only way to win...is to live

One year after the Emergency, the island of Manhattan has become a prison. The survivors of the Colony have carved out a living a few stories above the sea of millions of shambling corpses. With no escape and no hope for the future, the teenagers entertain themselves by participating in brutal gladiatorial games, betting the only thing they have left—their lives.

Jeremy Walters is among the best of the best, but his adrenalin-addicted recklessness has done more than earn him the nickname Deathwish; it’s gotten him noticed. Now the race is on to recruit Deathwish as opposing forces maneuver to take advantage of his zombie-killing gifts. If he somehow manages to navigate the maze of bribery, threats, extortion, and intimidation, and not get himself killed, he’ll still have to face every teenager’s greatest fear: an angry mother. 

AVAILABLE FORMATS:

Available in hardcover, trade softcover, and ebook at fine retailers everywhere, including Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books-a- Million, iTunes, Kobo, plus many more. Coming soon to audio!

Visit the publisher’s website for more information and purchasing options.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. Whitworth Hazzard lives in the vast cornfields of Illinois with his wife, and four nearly perfect children. Trained in science and critical thinking, J. Whitworth spends his leisure time writing fiction that would make his former professors cringe. Dr. Hazzard’s PhD in molecular biophysics is used to figure out how to scientifically justify the existence of mythical creatures. His dream of writing started in the 5th grade when his five-page story “The Blood and Guts 500” entranced and thrilled his classmates. His passionate prosody received a standing ovation and from that day forward he was hooked on the art of storytelling.

Veterans Day 2017

Today is Veterans Day. 

I will not say it's a happy day; many no longer have their loved ones with them, some have loved ones serving now in very dangerous places, many have come home wounded, either physically, or in ways we cannot see. Thank you to all of you who are serving, have members in the three branches serving currently, or have served yourself.

Today is a day for honoring and remembrance. I don't agree with our military, but I will not and never have politicized people's selfless act of serving their country. The men and women in uniform go where they are ordered.

Right now, our nation is in a very sobering position. My father served in Korea. He was stationed in Puerto Rico as a Navy x-ray tech. Throughout his life, he never talked about what he saw. He rehabilitated a lot of men and he also prepared men's bodies for burial at home, packing them in shipping crates. He performed many autopsies. The cost of war is terrible. I'm glad he's not here today with the possibility of another Korean War looming over us, this time with nukes. He'd be so sad, angry, and concerned over our current president's rhetoric towards North Korea.

My brother, Greg, also served in the Navy as well as my sister, Rebecca. I don't have any of their service photos to share, unfortunately.

Greg was raped by other men while serving. He became an alcoholic to deal with PTSS(d) and depression. Drinking lead to tuberculosis in October of 1998. It took my brother's life. He is buried in Woods National Cemetery, here in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 

If you or a loved one are suffering from PTSS(d), there is help available. 

Contact the Veterans Crisis Line:
1-800-273-8255, press 1 (text 838255) or Confidential Veterans Chat with a counselor.

You can find out more information about PTSS(d) at The National Center for PTSD.

After his death, I wrote a series of poems for my graduate school portfolio. This is one.

All Hallow's Eve

for my my father

Death stares back at him from a bloodstained phlemgy ventilator
and his eyes are like two slick oil pools
amidst the hiss of the oxygen machine
that pumps life into his tuberculosis ridden body.
He is a wild caged animal riddled with piss-stinking fear,
trapped by I.V. lines, oxygen lines, heart monitors,
and chest tubes to keep his lung from collapsing,
and outside children dressed as ghosts, goblins, and witches
are trick or treating on this dreary All Hallow's Eve.
He claws at the sterile white hospital sheets,
grasping for his father's hand to pull him back into humanity,
tears dripping from the corners of his eyes
like sugar water dripping through clear tubes into his shrunken veins.
I tell him that when he is better we will play cribbage together,
and meanwhile my father is on the phone talking to his ex-wife,
and making funeral arrangements,
teetering on the brink of indecision --
"should he be resusticated," the doctors ask him again and again
each day as his son slips further away from the living.
"Should he be cremated or buried," my father asks my mother.
My father decides on cremation.
They are arranging for his funeral while he is still with us,
and my father is trying not to cry, to be a man, to be the head of the family
the way all good little boys from the depression era
were taught by their mothers,
but he can't wind up so many loose ends into
a neat ball of string and brown paper wrapping.
He can't bind up all the memories of his son
and toss them into the trash to be recycled.
He can't forget December 27, 1954,
the day his son was born
in a renovated castle in San Juan,
or 1974 when his son graduated high school
and enlisted in the navy to conquer the world,
and so many holidays spent with the family.
He can't help but ask why he hasn't said it earlier,
why he hasn't said, "I love you, son."

When Words Become Unclear, I Shall Focus on Photographs

My dad wasn't a man of many words. He traveled, working around the country, as I grew up, but I do remember special moments. We shared a love of music and a love of photography. My father was an accomplished pianist and before I was born he used to play professionally on the original piano bar scene, the old steakhouses where you could take your girl out to dinner and gather round the piano after to sing Nat King Cole, The Andrews

Sisters, Patsy Cline, Frank Sinatra, anything from the 30's, 40's, 50's, and 60's. That girl at dinner was my mom. She closed out the nights with my dad by the piano and of course, she sang better than he did. Mom was shy, but she loved dad's piano playing and he was always the life of the party. My father loved to drink good scotch, play piano, tell stories, and make people laugh. And he loved to take photographs.

Dad died in September of 2014 of advanced dementia. I helped care for him at home. Along with my mother and my brother, I watched the man, the father, the pianist, and the photographer I had known slip away from me. Eventually, sadly, we put dad in a nursing home for his own safety,

but thankfully, he was only there a short while. When he died, I couldn't bring myself to write. I thought about how he would never get to see me publish my first big novel or read the dedication page. His piano sat dark and silent; I couldn't bring myself to play it. And since I couldn't write, I took solace in my other passion, my photos. I found comfort in the familiar weight in my hands and lost myself behind the lens of the camera dad bought me.

I remember the day I came home as a freshman in college at Cardinal Stritch University and announced I'd signed up for photography. I'd taken photography in high school and a class in the sixth grade, but this was something special. I started out with a camera on loan from the photo department. I had no idea while I was going to class and spending time in the darkroom, dad was on the hunt for the perfect camera at Mike Crivello's. One day, I came home from classes to a camera sitting on the kitchen table - no note, nobody around, but I knew dad had something to do with this because mom never allowed dad to purchase big items without her approval, since he had a history of going hog wild when shopping for anything he was passionate about in life.

I still have my faithful Nikon FG. My roadside companion traveled 1500 miles with me, my cat, and my bearded dragon from Milwaukee, Wisconsin to Albuquerque, New Mexico the summer of 2006. We trekked all over The Land of Enchantment, my FG and me, before moving to Dallas, Texas on New Year's Eve of 2007. By then, my new husband and his son, Noah, knew any place allowing a camera, would find me behind one.

On a museum trip, Noah asked, "Why do you take so many pictures?"

I answered, "Because I'm a photographer." 

Noah looked at me and grew quiet for a moment. Then he said, "But you're not famous and in any really big museums, so you can't be a photographer."

Around ten at the time, I knew he didn't understand, but I tried to explain it the best I could. I said, "Noah, you don't have to be famous to be a photographer. You're a photographer because it's what you love. It's what you do. I'm a photographer."

It's the same thing with being a writer. I'm not a writer because I'm famous, though, if honest, I'm hoping I get a good contract for my first novel, as soon I finish it. I'm a writer because I write. But I couldn't be a writer after dad died in 2014. Words failed me for the first time in my life; I wasn't even confident of the eulogy I wrote for dad's memorial service. I couldn't blog, I couldn't create, I stopped sending out submissions. Everything went silent. "When words become unclear, I shall focus on photographs," Ansel Adams said. And that's what I did. I focused on my photographs and healed my heart.

These days, I mostly use a digital Canon, but I'll never sell my Nikon FG. It's a gift from my dad's heart. I miss being able to share my photographs and my writing with my father. I hear his voice in my head, saying, "That's really neat, Skeet." And because of the precious gift he gave me, I found a way to grieve and found my way back to my writing. I've been given a second chance. And I'm going to make it count. The first novel I publish will be dedicated to my mom and my dad. Somewhere, I know he'll be reading that first page, even if he's not physically with me. And I'll always have my camera to help focus my thoughts, when words fail me.

R.I.P. Dad February 3, 1933 - September 16, 2014