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.

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