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This weekend, August 15th and 16th, I will be a guest at the inaugural Northwest Comics Fest. The brainchild of Casey Ocupe, the Fest looks like it should be a blast. Check out the story featured on OregonLive this week for a few more details.
I'll be at booth #14 along with Karen Morey. Karen and I will also be giving a panel on Saturday. The name of the panel is something about networking, and I'm sure we'll talk about that a bit, but we aim to talk about all sorts of things concerning publishing.
The fest also has a film component and in addition to me tabling and doing a panel, there will also be two screenings of a short film I wrote which takes place in the Zomburbia universe (though it's an entirely new story) called "Monster Movie." The film will screen on Friday, the 14th at 12:51 p.m. and Saturday it will play 1:40 p.m. A lot of very talented folks helped to make this short a reality and I hope some people get to see it there. More info can be found at the Northwest Comic Fest- Film Fest Facebook page.
If you'll be in the Salem area, I hope you come by and say hello. I should have copies of all my books (except Star Wars: Infinites which is currently out of print) and I'll happily sign anything shoved in front of me.
It's late, and I'm tired and grumpy, so just a little something to make this actually count as a blog entry.
Actually, I think something that will make me feel better is to tell you about something one of my friends has done.
Jenn Brissett has written a novel that is getting all kinds of amazing notice.
Elysium is a new and notable book at Locus Magazine, it's been well reviewed at places like Publishers Weekly, The Washington Post and i09. And. AND it's nominated for a Philip K Dick award. I haven't yet had the chance to read it, but it's on my short-list, and I've heard from a few people I truly respect that it's nothing shot of amazing. Jenn and I went to Stonecoast together and she was one of those folks who were ahead of me that I wanted to keep an eye on. And with good reason. On top of having written a great book, she's also super nice.
You should all check out her book, and tell her that I told you to do it, okay?
There. I do feel better.
Here are tonight's numbers:
Daily word count: 1,466
Novel word count: 53,143
I've been having good writing days lately. I contribute a good bit of this to my strict lack of writing rituals. I've written briefly about this before. I used to ritualize the act of writing, and I've cut out all of that nonsense. Well, almost. If I have anything like a ritual anymore, it centers around the music I listen to while I'm writing. I can waste a good few hours coming up with the perfect playlist to listen to. Spotify has made this task both easier and more difficult. Easier in that I can find some many great songs so easily. Difficult in the I have so many more songs at my fingertips -- it makes choosing difficult sometimes.
Lately I've been listening to older stuff, stuff that I remember listening to 20 or 30 years ago. You know, when I was a baby. Not sure why this is. I usually crave new music. Maybe it's a phase >shrugs shoulders<. For now I'm just rolling with it.
Here's one song that's been in heavy rotation on my current writing playlist (entitled, imaginatively, Writing II) on Spotify. Supergrass were a British alternative band in the early '90s. This song, "Alright," is the only one I remember from them. I think it's in a commercial for something right now. That may be where I heard it and decided I needed it in a playlist. Or maybe it's in a movie the boys have watched lately. Kids' movies seem full of oddly inappropriate music cues nowadays, thought that probably hasn't changed much since I was a kid. Anyway, here's the video for the song, which seems like a classic of the let's-grab-a-camera-and-shoot-a-video-to-promote-our-hit-single variety. This sort of thing would never fly today...
That video really makes me want a plain white tee with "ADAM" printed across the front in Futura black.
Here are today's numbers:
Daily word count: 1,641
Novel word count: 51,677
My latest work-in-progress is a fantasy novel titled Sowing Serpent's Teeth. I just hit 50,000 words, so I'd guess I'm about 50% through this beast. This seems like a good time to start recording my progress on the book.
This is something I did with Zomburbia when I was writing it, though I started tracking that book much later in the process. I'm doing this for a couple of reason. 1) I want to hold myself accountable in a public way. I had a hard time with the beginning of this novel and I want to give myself as few reasons as possible to miss a day of writing. If I think someone somewhere might notice me letting a day slide, then I'm all the less likely to do it. 2) Tracking the numbers forces me to write other things in this space as well since I don't want to write about just the numbers. I've long been neglecting this blog and that needs to change. So, numbers it is if that'll help.
Here's something I should have written about last week and didn't, because I've been slacking off, you see.
In case you didn't catch it, my novel,
Zombified, the sequel to
Zomburbia, was released last week. It's available from a number of online retailers, of course (and
this link will take you to my publisher's page where you can find links to the book on many of those sites), but it would be great if you decided to buy it from an independent bookseller in your area. One indie book store you may want to consider buying it from is
The Book Bin in my hometown of Salem, Oregon. If you get it through them, you can ask to have me sign or personalize your copy; something I'm more than happy to do.
There have been a few other things going on with me and my writing, but I'll save those for upcoming numbers round-ups.
That's all there is to say for now, I suppose, except I want to thank you for checking out my blog. Thanks for sticking around during the fallow period if you've been reading for a while, and hello if you're new to the place.
And now, here are the numbers:
Daily word count: 1,386
Novel word count: 50,036
As a way to generate interest for
Zombified, the second of my Zombie Apocalypse novels, my publisher, Kensington, have made the first book in the series,
Zomburbia, a $2.99 purchase for all e-readers. That's one penny less than $3.00, which can't even buy you a latte, right? Unless my time in the land of overpriced coffee has skewed my perceptions. Anyway, here are all links to all the places where you might buy the e-book:
It will be this price all through January, so you can pick up a (virtual) copy and be ready when the sequel, Zombified comes out later this month.
Speaking of
Zombified, you may now pre-order it if you feel so inclined. The book will ship on January 27, and it's available from a number of online retailers.
If you'd like to find a brick and mortar store in your area where you can order a copy, you can go to
IndieBound and enter your zip code.
Speaking of brick and mortar stores, The Book Bin in Salem, Oregon, is currently taking pre-orders for Zombified. I'd encourage everyone in Salem to get one there. And if you'd like to order a signed copy, they're the folks to contact. I'll be happy to sign and personalize any of my books that you order through them. Here's their information:
(503) 361-1235
It's probably best to call, but you may also contact them
via email.
I also have an ARC of Zombified that I'm trying to figure out how to give away. I'll keep you all posted.
I hope you're all having a good New Year so far, and I'll keep in touch!
It's that time of year again and I bet you're wondering what to get for the folks on your gift list. Books make wonderful presents, I think. And do you know what's better than a book? A signed book! And not just a book signed by any random person who might or might not be a hobo. No, you want a book signed by its author! Who may or may not be a hobo...
So, if you'd like to give someone a signed copy of Zomburbia (or give one to yourself -- you deserve to treat yourself), here's how you can do it:
- If you're lucky enough to live in Salem, Oregon, stop by at The Book Bin in downtown. They have copies on hand, and I'll sign 'em up for you. I'm usually there Monday through Friday until 5;30, and even if I'm not, they have a pile of books I've pre-signed.
- If you're from out of town, you can always call The Book Bin and order a signed copy and they'll ship it anywhere you'd like. Their number is (503) 361-1235. If you'd like me to personalize it, let the staff know. You can tell me exactly what to write, or rely on my sparkling wit to come up with something...
- Finally, let's say you already have a copy and want a signature. What do you do then? Easy, you email me with your address and I'll send you a signed bookplate. For free. The bookplate features an excellent illustration by my buddy and collaborator, Todd Demong. The only downside is that the space for the signature is somewhat small, so I can't really personalize them.
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This is what the bookplate actually looks like.
I sign it on the blank space on the bottom. |
There. I've made your holiday shopping easier by a factor of, oh, I don't know, ten. Or zombies. Or something. I'm a writer, math isn't my strong suit.
Happy holidays, folks!
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| Me upon reading said review. |
So,
Bill Ransom, who has an impressive list of accomplishments, among which I can number:
- Finalist for both the Pulitzer and National Book Award
- Coauthor, with Frank Herbert, of the Pandora sequence.
- Possessor of a "hot" rating on RateMyProfessor.com
That very same Bill Ransom left this amazing review for Zomburbia on
Amazon:
"This is the best-written Zombie novel I've ever read, and I'm looking forward to 'Zombified'. Gallardo has captured the essence of suburban adolescence and angst with masterfully crafted scenes. This could be some director's next hit film!"
This means a lot to me because I studied with Bill at Evergreen and have long admired his work.
Thanks, Bill! And thanks to everyone who's rated or reviewed the book. It's truly appreciated!
To quote my publisher's publicist (Hi, Vida!): "VOYA(Voice of Youth Advocates) magazine is the leading library journal dedicated to the needs of young adult librarians, the advocacy of young adults, and the promotion of young adult literature and reading."
This is a great organization of which I just recently became aware. I think they're doing terrific work. So it's really satisfying to me that they chose to review Zomburbia, and that they seemed to like it.
Here's the TL;DR version in case you don't have time for the whole thing: “Gallardo provides a fresh take on the post-zombie apocalypse…Gallardo develops Courtney with an authentic voice, and while she is thoughtless at first, she becomes a strong heroine. Teens looking for zombie action with a determined female narrator will enjoy this quick read.” – VOYA
And here's the full review: “How do you live like a normal teenager after the zombie apocalypse? For snarky high school junior Courtney, this means dealing with boys’ attention, working at a fenced-in fast food joint, and selling illegal drugs derived from zombie brains, all while the undead lurk just outside. In the suburbs where Courtney lives, the rich are protected in gated communities while people like Courtney press their luck with chain link fences. Her only dream is traveling to soon-to-be-reclaimed New York City to attend college. She almost has enough drug money saved when popular jock Brandon Ikaros shows interest in her, leading Courtney into a world where parties, drugs, and bad decisions are the norm. As Courtney struggles with managing different cliques, more reports of zombie attacks crop up. Courtney is among the first to notice the zombies are different now: smarter, faster, healthier, younger. When a few bad decisions lead Courtney and her friends into a dangerous situation, Courtney must decide whether she has the guts to fight or become a zombie.
Zomburbiais filled with the typical high school drama, but Gallardo provides a fresh take on the post-zombie apocalypse. The world is not destroyed, but the challenges faced in high school are much more tense and violent. Students carry weapons, take zombie virus courses, and deal with more death. Gallardo develops Courtney with an authentic voice, and while she is thoughtless at first, she becomes a strong heroine. Teens looking for zombie action with a determined female narrator will enjoy this quick read.”
That's nice, right?
This reminds me – I know I've been writing about the reviews that appear in big magazines, but I also wanted to give a shout out to everyone who's taken the time to review the book on sites like amazon and goodreads. I really appreciate everyone who took the time to read the book and comment on it or rate it. And that includes the people who gave it one star (there are a few), not just the ones who gave it four or five (the majority, I hasten to point out...). Really, thank you! It means a lot to me. And it's never to late to add your review if you feel so inclined. It really does help.
Thanks again.
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My book hits store shelves today. This brings up huge feelings for me that will probably lead to tears (mine) if I talk about it. Instead, let me send you a free something.
I'm doing readings in both
Portland and Salem for the book's release, and folks will also be able to get their books signed at these readings, if they want. But I don't have any other events planned right now, so how might a person who is geographically-challenged get a signature from me for their book? With these lovely bookplates that I have designed and had made which I will send to you free of charge. All you need to do is ask for it.
I'm especially happy with this piece because I got my buddy,
Todd Demong, to supply me with an original zombie sketch. Todd is the artist with whom I created the comic 100 Girls, and he's truly amazing. Please don't hold it against him that he's Canadian.
You want one, right? Well, all you have to do is email me your meat-world address using
this here email address and I'll sign one of these bad boys and put it in the mail to you.* Just like that. Once you get it, just place the sticker in your book and you'll have something that book-selling site like AbeBooks considers just as valuable as an original signed book. Not that you'd ever consider selling your copy of Zomburbia, right? Right?
*I think I'm going to have to restrict this to North America only as postage anywhere else would probably break me. Sorry, four-fifths of the world's population...
Publishers Weekly have posted a capsule review of Zomburbia to their site. I imagine it'll show up in the magazine, but who knows. Anyway, they seemed to like. Here's the sentence that made me wet in my pants in a little bit:
"With its complicated and believable heroine, exploration of moral dilemmas, and disturbingly mundane vision of life among the undead, this action-and-gore-soaked adventure entertains on numerous levels."
So, for those keeping score at home, Zomburbia has now been reviewed favorably by both Publishers Weekly and Kirkus. And I know that Booklist are going to review it, but who knows if they'll like it. Either way, I'm pretty stoked about the critical response the book has received so far.
One hopes that unmitigated commercial success will follow. That's how this usually works, right?
I'm doing a lot of writing at the moment, which is great for a lot of reasons, chief among them is that I listen to a lot of music when I write. Lately I've had the self-titled album from Elastica on repeat as I work (despite the fact that it is in no way appropriate for what I'm writing).
I know a lot of writer types, and I would say that the majority of them have said that they need to listen to music that is somehow related to what they're writing. If it's a horror story, they throw on the soundtrack to The Shining. If it's a period piece, they listen to music from that period. Et cetera. I have never been like that. All I require of the music I listen to is that it be music I have some familiarity with. If it's brand new to me, I have to listen intently. Too intently for me to be able to write down the thoughts in my noggin.
Elastica hit it big back in 1995. The album spawned five singles here in the US. And the band never recorded another. According to Wikipedia, they got in some trouble with other bands for "borrowing" riffs and melodies too heavily (they settled everything out of court). It's a shame. I really thought they were going to go places. They had a great look and sound (though maybe the sound wasn't entirely their own...). Regardless, thanks to Spotify, I am now able to listen to this band again and dream that someday there'll be a follow-up album and a reunion tour.
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| My book for reals. |
I think I was nine or ten when I decided I wanted to be a writer. It was around this time anyway that I started looking for ways to write stories as a means of fulfilling homework assignments, and that I began to fudge the answers on aptitude tests so the results would show I ought to be a writer. Since then I've done some of the things that most writers do – I've sporadically kept journals, I've written and submitted in a variety of genres and styles, I've bought and read entire libraries-full of writing how-to books. And I've done some things most writers probably don't, such as just plain trying to give up writing because it's so fucking hard and heart-breaking.
But I've always come back to it. And I always feel a huge sense of relief when I do.
And now, finally, after a lot of years, I have a novel coming out that has my name on the cover and everything. And I know that I already have several books with my name on them out there. But they've been collections of comics and that's just not what I envisioned back when I was nine or ten. And this is not meant as a slight against comics at all. Comics buoyed me at a time when I was very low, and they helped me pay some bills. The work I did in comics kept me believing that I was able to write at all. Hell, it's because I was able to sell comics scripts that I even decided to give writing prose again a chance. So, yeah, I owe a lot to comics.
Still, I always wanted to write a prose novel and to have it be published and loose in the world, and it looks like that's about to happen. Last week I received a small package from my publisher (Kensington, which is an independent publisher and which has been just freaking wonderful to work with). The package contained a small number of comp copies of my book, Zomburbia – just a taste, the rest of my comps will come later. I opened that package and held in my hands a real book with my name on the cover.
And the nine-or ten-year-old in me knew that I hadn't messed things up too badly if I'd accomplished this.
Listen, I know what the book market is like. Zomburbia may come and go without making a single ripple in the publishing industry, but it's here now. And that's enough. Also, the sequel is already written and in the hands of the publisher and now I'm writing something new and I have a reasonable expectation that someone will but it. So there's that.
By the way, my second choice of career when I was ten was to become a politician. I think we can all be happy I chose to become a writer.
Last night I had my son, Oscar, help me draw names from a literal hat to determine the winners of the little contest I had going. Remember, there were ten signed cover flats up for grabs and one lucky person won a signed ARC of Zomburbia, my debut YA novel which is set to be released next month from Kensington.
Without any more rambling, here are the winners:
Signed cover flats (in the order they were drawn):
- Marlene Pardo
- Hans Strickler
- Mike Perron
- Zachary Jernigan
- Victoria Fountain
- Trinh Le
- Dan Jones
- Benjamina Harmon Balmer
- Kat Kem
- Eryca Latham
And the winner of the signed Zomburbia Arc:
- Aaron Marvin!
I'l be contacting all of the winners in the next day or two to get addresses where I should send their goodies.
I want to thank everyone who helped me spread the word about my book. I truly appreciate it.
And if you're disappointed that you didn't win an ARC,
Goodreads.com is still giving away 25 of them. Of course, more than 300 people have entered the contest, so maybe the odds aren't great – and none of those will be signed. Or not signed by me, at least... Also, I think I'll be doing something different as the pub date gets closer, but I'll be giving away a signed copy of the regular book. So stay tuned.
Finally, if you definitely want a copy and don't want to leave it to chance, you might consider preordering it from one of these fine online retailers*:
AmazonBarnes and NoblePowell'sIndie BoundThank you again to everyone who helped out!
*I realize I called Amazon a fine online retailer, but rest assured I did it with tongue firmly in cheek. Still, I won't judge you if that's where you choose to preorder the book.
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| These are the cover flats you might win. They look better in real life. |
It's contest time, folks!
I have an ARC (Advanced Reading Copy – though Action Robot Cop would be a lot more cool...) and some cover flats of Zomburbia to give away.
And what, I hear you asking, must one do to win one of these fine prizes? The answer is simple: Help me spread the word about Zomburbia. The book comes out on August 26, which is just a little over a month away, and I'd like to build awareness of its launch. Some people have already been talking about it with folks they know, and for that I'm very grateful. I'm hoping this little contest will help the word-of-mouth campaign build (and, as a result, will help grow the preorder figures as well).
You can talk it up on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and your own blog. Or anywhere else it occurs to you to mention it. But here's the thing: If you share it, let me know. If you do it on Facebook or Twitter, you can just tag me and I'll see it. If you choose some other venue, you may need to actually
point it out by emailing me.
Talk about the book and I'll put your name in a hat. More than likely it will be a metaphorical hat, but who knows, I may go crazy and get a real-live hat for the drawing. Share it on multiple platforms and I'll put your name in multiple times. Get it?
This blog post is going live on Friday, July 18, so we'll give it until Thursday, July 24 when I'll choose winners and announce them that Friday. Ten folks will win a cover flat, signed by me if you'd like. One lucky winner will get the ARC well before the book is available to everyone else. And I'll lower its value by signing it if you'd like.
Here are some suggestions for things you might want to shout out to the world:
You have a week. Get to sharing! And thanks.
Seriously, I appreciate everyone who's already talked about Zomburbia with their friends, and I'm grateful that so many of you are excited for me and for Zomburbia to be published. Thanks!
Weird Al Yankovic. Let that sink in. My musical crush right now is Weird Al Yankovic. We listen to music at my day job thanks to Spotify. Yesterday we spent at least half the day listening to my buddy Al. It occurred to me the other day as I was watching a new Yankovic video that he's had a career spanning more than three decades. A lot of the artists whose songs he's parodied would kill for that kind of longevity. Hell, I hope my own career as an artist last that long.
His latest song and video are right in my wheelhouse (are we still saying that?). Parodying "Blurred Lines" and turning it into a grammar lesson? Yes, please! I'm pasting it below.
And I'm hoping the "Weird Al" will still be singing in another thirty years.
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| This is just a screen cap, Bucky. To enter, click the link below. |
My publisher, Kensington, are giving away a number of
ARCs of Zomburbia on Goodreads. The contest is open now until the 31st of August. Unfortunately, it's only open to people in the US and Canada. Sorry about that, rest of the world...
For those of you in North America however, go to it!
As stated in the headline, Kirkus have reviewed, mostly favorably, Zomburbia. Pasted below is the full text of that review.
KIRKUS REVIEWS
ZOMBURBIA
Author: Adam Gallardo
PULL QUOTE
“Comics author Gallardo nails her voice—likable yet self-absorbed… the interpersonal drama strikes a comfortable balance with undead action. More brains than your average zombie novel…and more entrails as well!” – Kirkus Reviews
FULL REVIEW:
Unlike the classic zombie-apocalypse scenario, humanity here hasn't been completely devastated—in suburbia, life has adapted. Post-zombie outbreak, people live behind gates or fences, students take a yearly health and hygiene class on the zombie virus, and firearms are commonplace in backpacks and cars. Courtney's determined to escape the suburbs and attend college in New York—the government hopes the city will be habitable again—but her father will only pay for her college if she goes in-state. To fund her dream, she works at a local burger joint—and sells Vitamin Z (an illegal drug made from zombie brains). Then jock Brandon falls for her, crossing clique lines. Courtney vacillates between her old friends and Brandon's popular world while hiding her drug dealing. Courtney's smart and ambitious, and she makes terrible decisions.Comics author Gallardo nails her voice—likable yet self-absorbed. This rough world lends itself to drug dealing, partying, guns-blazing action sequences and unvarnished language, but it occasionally enables the characters' emotional detachment, resulting in weak motivations for their actions. There's an additional mystery about some smarter, faster zombies—seemingly left for the sequel despite heavy hints that make the answer seem obvious. Aside from that, the interpersonal drama strikes a comfortable balance with undead action. More brains than your average zombie novel…and more entrails as well! (Horror. 14 & up)
Thao and the Get Down Stay Down have been in very heavy rotation in my ear holes as I finished off the manuscript for Zombified. I think there's just something really sexy about this music, and about Thao's voice. So there: now you get to picture me thinking sexy thoughts while you listen to this. You are welcome.
Also, it occurs to me that I was introduced to Thao and the GDSD, and to Valerie June, by my co-worker, Trinh. We listen to music at the book buying counter via a Spotify account and I think I'm lucky that she has such good taste. Thanks, Trinh!
Since last we spoke, some stuff has happened. Some of that stuff took up so much of my time that I failed to update this blog. For instance, I finished up the draft of Zombified, which is the sequel to Zomburbia. I finished it, I got it to my agent, my agent gave me notes, I made changes based on those notes and sent it off to my editor. Just yesterday, I heard from my editor. She accepted the manuscript with no major revisions. All the notes she had will be incorporated along with the copy editor's notes on the production draft. The process I just described took up a good chunk of May and all of June.
I may go into more detail about this process at some point, but maybe not. I'm not being coy, I'm genuinely trying to suss out how I feel about what I just went through and how much I want to share. So, you'll have to wait and see, I guess.
What else? Well, despite the fact that the manuscript was just accepted yesterday, there's now a cover for Zombified. It was photographed by Blake Morrow, the same guy who shot the cover for Zomburbia, and I think it's just as great. Ready to see it?
Terrific, right?
Zombified is already in Kensington's catalog and it has a pub date in January. Believe me when I tell you that I'll keep you informed as that date gets closer.
And I'll also be doing some promotion-type stuff for
Zomburbia as well. Watch this space later in the week for more on that.
That's all for now, I suppose.
Man, my blogging skills are rusty...
Read the rest of this post
It seems like my capacity to develop crushes on musicians is pretty much limitless.Valerie June is one of a couple of new acts (new to me at least) that I've had on heavy rotation as I've been writing lately. And since I've spent so much of the last month writing, that means I've been listening to this a lot.
Rather than fumble around for an inadequate description of her music, why don't you just listen to a little of it? You can than me later.
Did you know that even when I don't write posts here about what I'm doing, things still continue to happen in my life? I know, it's as flabbergasting to me as it is to you... So I thought I'd write a bit of a catch-up post to, you know... catch you up...
The biggest news is that I sent the final edits of Zomburbia off to the printer. Preparing the manuscript for printing basically meant I had to read the novel again and mark any typos or errors I found. Despite having been read many times by many people, I still found a number of both. Typos and errors, I mean. I apparently have a habit of switching from the past to the present tense every so often, and I found errors of continuity that I can't believe were still present this late in the game. Now that those are off, I can devote myself to writing the draft of the sequel, right? Right?
My oldest, Oscar, turned six a few days ago. Do you realize what this means? It means I am the father of a human being who is six years old! I used to write about him (and the rest of my family) more often than I have recently. I might get back to that. For now, here's a photo of one of the cutest creatures on Earth.
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| Do you think he gave me a bite? No, he did not. |
I joined the SFWA (Science Fiction Writers of America) recently. If you aren't a part of the SF community, you may still be aware of the organization because it's going through some
growing pains and a lot of its
dirty laundry is being exposed. I thought this was a perfect time to join, actually, because I want to be a part of the rising tide which sweeps a lot of bigoted old men out to sea. There, I said it. It felt good.
I am also a member of the HWA (Horror Writers Association. This years's World Horror Con is this coming weekend in Portland, Oregon. I'll be attending, and I'll be taking part in a panel on using Social Media Marketing. The panel will be Friday from 2-3. If you're around, you should come by and watch me struggle to understand what Twitter and Facebook mean...
Finally, a couple of buddies and I are making a short film in a couple of weeks. It's set in the same world as Zomburbia and it should be a blast. I'll write more in a bit about how it all came together and what we've done on it so far. Let me just say here, in case you are my editor or my agent and you're reading this, it's stolen very little time from my writing the next book. I promise.
I've written often enough that I have a novel coming out later this year. Perhaps you'd like to read a sample of it? If so, then you are in the right place!
My publisher, Kensington, have given me permission to post the first chapter of Zomburbia here. I'll post link to various online retailers at the end of the excerpt in case you like the sample and want to read more.
ZOMBURBIA
A Zombie Apocalypse Novel
By Adam Gallardo
Chapter One
Good Times at Bully Burger
The night shifts at Bully Burger are the absolute worst. It’s like sitting through a five-hour History lecture from Mr. Chanders, only you have to wear a festively colored polyester uniform while you do it. Maybe a car an hour comes through the drive-thru, and you really get tired of that fearful look people get in their eyes after dark.
The Bully Burger—whose mascot, I swear to God, is a cartoon of Teddy Roosevelt holding a hamburger—is a minor big deal in these parts. Six stores that sprouted up back at the dawn of time. People around here are crazy proud of this homegrown franchise. This particular store, the last one to be built, is at the far end of a developed strip out on Commercial Street. That nicely named strip is where the town started to shove all the franchises and big-box stores in the late ’70s and, as you can imagine, it looks like one long stretch of hell. It’s all Walmarts and Mickey D’s as far as the eye can see. Depressing.
There are no other stores really close to the Bully Burger, so we don’t share a fence with anyone. We’ve got a sturdy chain-link that runs all around the lot with a motor-controlled gate facing the street. All of the parking is in the front of the shack and the drive-thru runs around back where our patrons get a lovely view of the shed that holds our Dumpster and incinerator.
Despite the fact that TR is our mascot, our color scheme is a rip-off of every other burger chain in existence. It’s all red and orange and yellow. I doubt very much that our twenty-sixth president really dug on these colors much. Not that anyone asked my opinion before settling on the decor.
Inside it’s as cheerless as you might imagine. Hard plastic seats molded for the average 1970s fanny, which means that today’s super-size variety hardly fits in them. Not that there were many butts in seats the night this story starts. There was only one, in fact: that of our security guard, Chacho.
I suspected that was not his real name. Even though it was on his name badge and all, it was in quotes, so I think there was some subterfuge going on at some level. Besides this attempt to hide his identity, he was a pretty cool dude. He was ancient, maybe forty, a big Latino guy with a shaved head and a long mustache. Like a Mongol warlord, you know? If Chacho worked the afternoon shifts, he stationed himself by the gates the whole time to make sure no undesirables got on the property, but if he worked a night shift, even though he should’ve been outside, everyone looked the other way and he sat inside with his newspaper and his armor all piled up on the seat next to him. He could throw that shit on in about ten seconds flat if something slipped through the gate that shouldn’t. It seemed like a weird way to make a living, beating the crap out of shufflers. I guess someone had to do it.
Behind the counter were me and my friend Sherri. Sherri and I had been friends since the womb practically. We went all the way through school together, and we were gonna graduate together next year and then screw off to New York together. I had a plan that extended past that—including saving the world—but I doubted that Sherri did.
Sherri was shorter than me, maybe five-five? And she’d always been more athletic than me, not that she played sports or anything. Playing sports would be trying just a little too hard, if you get my drift. She wore her black hair cropped really close to her head and she was pretty in a butch sort of way. Actually, her looks started causing whispers about us being lesbians ever since our classmates figured out what lesbians were. Which we were totally not. Lesbians, I mean. That night, she wore her company-mandated clown shirt unbuttoned over a T-shirt that was made to look like it had handwriting on it, though it was screen printed or something.
Yes, I’m a Zombie, What’s Your Excuse? it said. Many raised eyebrows from customers when she helped them at the counter. Which was rarely at night. Mostly she ran the grill.
If there had been any manager besides Mr. Philips on duty, Sherri would have buttoned the shirt. But Mr. Philips had just been a shift grunt named Ted until a couple of weeks before, and Sherri felt like he’d not yet earned her, or anyone’s, respect. So, the shirt was to remain unbuttoned for the foreseeable future. Ted spent most of his shifts back in the manager’s office on the phone with his girlfriend or surfing the web for porn. Apparently he’d figured out a way to erase all traces of where he’d been online and he wouldn’t tell any of us how to do it, too
I worked the drive-thru window that night. I say “worked” but mostly what I did was talk to Sherri, and run my side business.
“Okay,” she said from the front counter, “top three people you’d like to see have their brains eaten by hordes of zombies.
I didn’t have to think about this list for very long.
“One,” I said, “Mr. Chanders—”
Sherri cut me off with a slicing motion of her hand.
“You know, Courtney,” she said, “we should call this game ‘top three people you’d like to see have their brains eaten by hordes of zombies who aren’t Mr. Chanders since he’s so obvious.’”
“You didn’t say that, though,” I said. “So, number one, Mr. Chanders.
“Two: Lori Caldwell.”
“For serious?” Sherri asked. She looked at me totally not believing it. “I’m going to need some justification.”
“She completely hates me,” I said, ticking things off on my fingers as I went. “She thinks she’s so great, even though she’s got that lazy eye, and she ruined my grade point average by not letting me borrow her notes for our last AP English test.”
Sherri looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“That’s sort of lame, but I’ll allow it,” she said. “Give with number three.”
“My mom,” I said with no hesitation.
Sherri did a long, drama-queen-y sigh and shook her head.
“So obvious,” she said. “If this was a TV movie, you’d be forced to come to terms with your tumultuous feelings about her. Also, you’d be played by a second-tier Disney starlet.”
“Let’s hear yours,” I told her, ignoring the jibe.
Before she could get to it, we heard three sharp car-horn blasts.
A car sat in the median lane waiting for us to open the gate.
“Open ’er up,” I shouted at Sherri, my head outside the drive-thru window. Almost immediately I heard the electric motor hum to life and then the rattle of the chain-link gate sliding open. The car waited until the gap was just big enough to let it through and then it sputtered to life and drove into the lot.
“Okay,” I said, pulling my head in, “close it.”
I noticed that the third member of our crew, Phil, had come up from the back where he’d been cleaning. He stood there waiting to see if we’d need his help with this order or if he could go back and keep prepping to close. Phil was pretty unremarkable—average height, average short brown hair, average medium build, average—the only other thing you need to know is that he was a year younger than Sherri and me and he was in our grade as well as in two of my AP classes, and in my Journalism class where he mostly draws incomprehensible editorial cartoons. This classified him as annoying in the extreme.
“Back to the bog, Gollum,” Sherri said to Phil.
He slowly turned his head and just stared at her in his creepy way for a second before answering.
“Gollum lived in a lake in a cave,” he said.
“Whatever,” she said, shooing him away with her hands. “Go and get cleaning; I want to get out of here before eleven.”
He blinked again, then turned and disappeared into the depths of the store.
A tone sounded in my headset, and I hit the button that lets me talk to the customers out at the order board.
“Welcome to Bully Burger,” I said as fast as I could, “where we’re bully about service. How may I help you?”
I winced a little. That slogan was so dumb, I was convinced it killed my soul a little bit every time I said it.
I heard whispering over my headset. No matter how much I strained, I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying.
“Can . . . can I get, um, two Whoppers?” the voice on the other end said.
“We don’t serve Whoppers here, sir,” I answered, and shot a look at Sherri. She purposefully avoided eye contact but made sure I could see her frowning at me. Her back stiffened, too. I ignored her. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Sure,” the voice said. “How about, uh, two Bully Meals, extra-large, one with curly fries.”
I punched it into the register.
“That’ll be thirteen-ninety-six at the window,” I said. “Please pull forward.”
Sherri chucked some frozen patties on the grill.
The car sat under the window as I threw it open and looked out at my customer. A rat-faced little guy with a knit cap pulled down over his ears sat behind the wheel of an old beat-up Escort. He smiled up at me expectantly. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days and hadn’t bathed in even longer. Another, equally rat-faced, guy sat next to him, his leg bouncing up and down. The passenger craned his neck to look up into the window.
I glanced around behind me to see if anyone was paying attention. No one was.
“You wanted Whoppers?” I asked.
The first dude’s head bobbed up and down on his pipe-cleaner neck.
“Fifty dollars,” I whispered.
The guy frowned and did this involuntary head shake. I thought he might argue with me, but then the passenger leaned over and said something. The driver shot me a look and then dug cash out of his pocket and counted out fifty dollars.
“And thirteen-ninety-six for the burgers,” I said.
If looks could kill, there’d have been an empty seat in Mrs. Callow’s homeroom the next day. But I didn’t change my expression; I just waited. He counted out a few more notes and handed them to me.
“Thanks,” I said as brightly as I could. Fifty bucks went into my pocket and fourteen went into the register. I didn’t bother with the four pennies I owed him.
And before you start to get all judgmental on me, just don’t, okay? Yes, I sold Vitamin Z, but I wasn’t really a drug dealer, you know? And, before you ask, it’s true; Vitamin Z is made from actual zombie brains, but I’m not going to get all judgmental about what people put in their bodies. It might have been a rationalization, but I only sold to asshats like the two ferret brothers. I mean, Jesus, those guys were going to find a fix somewhere and I might as well have been the one to get their money.
Also—and this may be way self-serving—I needed the money if I was going to escape Salem and go away to school in New York. My dad had offered to pay my way but only if I agreed to go to a school in-state. Ideally, he’d have liked me to spend the first two years at the community college where he taught. That way it’d all be free. However, community college in a no-horse town in Oregon was not going to advance my plan to help rid the world of the undead. Also, I have to tell you, the thought of another two years stuck in Salem made me want to blow my brains out.
So I’d been saving up every penny I could to get out of Dodge. That’s why I originally took the job at Bully Burger. Soon after, it became clear I wouldn’t make the dosh fast enough, so I started looking for another way to make money. And I found it. I figured the rate I was going, I’d have four years at most any school wired. Especially if I got scholarships. Which I totally would.
Sherri brought a bag full of food and a cardboard tray with two drinks over to the window. The smell of grease wafted up and hit me in the nose. How people could eat this garbagestuff, I would never know. I shoved in a handful of ketchup packets and napkins. Then I slipped my hand into my apron and pulled out two small Ziploc bags full of shiny black powder. Those Ziplocs went into the bag, too. I handed the whole mess out the window to Ratzo. He immediately ripped open the bag and seemed to relax when he saw the two baggies sitting on top of the burgers
“Thanks for choosing Bully Burger,” I said
The guy tore off without saying anything. In fact, I barely got my arm out of the car before he screeched away.
“Come again!” I yelled out at the car that was now waiting for the gate to open.
“Brothers?” Sherri asked in my ear. I didn’t know she was still standing there. “Or dad and son?” She had her arms crossed on her chest as she looked out the drive-thru window at the car. “Or, given the strong genetic markers, both?”
“Not really interested,” I said. “Already forgotten.”
“Hmm . . .” was all Sherri said.
She pushed the button, and the gate started to slowly close and the lights from the beater receded. Another car in the turn lane was trying to get in the gate before it closed. They slammed on their brakes when it became obvious they wouldn’t make it.
“Hey,” I shouted, “we got another car! Open it up again.”
The gate shuddered as it came to a stop and back open again. The car pulled through.
Chacho stowed away his paper for the moment since the car parked in the lot. The owner frowned on customers seeing the security guard wasting time like that. Three guys in letterman jackets got out of the car and walked toward the door.
“Great,” Sherri hissed, “like these dopes don’t know we’re supposed to close in half an hour.”
“Relax,” I told her. “With the monkey in back catching up on cleaning, we’ll still get out of here early.”
She didn’t look at all relieved by this and practiced her best sneer to sling at the a-holes who were just now coming through the door.
The trio filed in, all of them high-fiving and laughing that too-loud, we-are-dudes laugh. God, I was just glad that Sherri had front counter.
I moved to the grill and waited for their order to show up on the monitor. As I was waiting, staring at the screen, I became aware that I could hear something over the hiss of my headphones that didn’t sound like ordering.
Sherri scowled at me. Then my eyes slid over to the guys in front of the counter. There was a six-foot pile of blond hair and flashing white teeth speaking to me. I slowly pulled the headset off my ears.
“Hey,” the guy said, “hey, aren’t you Courtney?”
Oh, my God, one of these trolls knew me.
“Yeah?” I asked, unsure of protocol when spoken to by someone so clearly outside my social station.
“Brandon,” the guy said like that explained it all. After a second or two of blankness from me, he pointed at himself. “Brandon Ikaros,” he said.
It slowly dawned on me. Brandon Ikaros. He was in my Journalism class. Not an AP class. He played a bunch of sports and mostly wrote human interest pieces for the Quotidian—which is a stupid name since the paper comes out once a week. Sometimes Mrs. Johnson even lets him write movie reviews despite the fact that he’d seen and liked all the Transformer movies.
Also, I’d never done anything to make him aware of me, ever.
“Right,” I said, “Brandon.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I just wanted to say hi, because,” he hesitated and smiled at me and I did my best to deflect it. “Because I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Okay,” I said. “Hi.”
Why was Sherri not taking their orders? Why was she not breaking this up and saving me from this terribly awkward situation? If I was on fire, she’d put me out, right? Actually, I might have to think about that one.
“Listen, Brandon,” I said, “it’s great to see you, but,” I waved my hands over the grill to indicate I had other, more important matters to attend to, “I have to get back to work.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding his head. “No problem. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Rather than reply, I just nodded and then shot daggers at Sherri as Brandon turned away from me and faced her, ready to give his order. Maybe if I stared at her hard enough, her head would explode all over Brandon’s letterman jacket.
The cream of the school’s jocktocracy was about to give their orders to Sherri when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey, there’s someone outside.”
Phil stood behind me. He stared past us all and into the parking lot. The rest of us turned and looked.
He was right: there was someone out there who hadn’t come in with the rest of the football team. This someone shuffled awkwardly, slowly, dragging one leg behind. His shoulder hitched in a weird way with every step.
One of the boys said, “Shit.”
Chacho moved fast for a big guy. He sprang up out of his bright plastic seat and started throwing on his body armor. The knee pads and shin guards were already on, so he got on his elbow pads and the pads for his forearms. He ignored the high-necked body armor and just put on the helmet. Then he scooped up his clear plastic shield and his club and he sprinted out the door.
Sherri and I ran from behind the counter and stationed ourselves next to the picture window closest to the action. Phil was close behind us and the jocks came up more slowly; maybe they felt like they shouldn’t be watching this. But, really, how could they not?
It was totally a zombie, a pretty fresh one, too. It was a dude, maybe my age, maybe a little older. He wore jeans and a MELVINS T-shirt. He wore one Dr. Martens boot. The foot missing the shoe looked like it had been chewed on pretty well. Also, except for half of his face being gone, he was probably pretty good looking when he was alive.
“If I were a zombie,” I whispered to Sherri without taking my eyes off the scene, “I’d totally go with him.”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
When the shuffler moved into the light, I saw that he had a death grip on a bloody stump of a leg. Someone somewhere was missing everything below the left knee. I shivered when I noticed that the foot was wearing a pink Chuck Taylor. Then I wondered if I knew anyone who owned shoes like that. I couldn’t think of anyone.
Out in the parking lot, Chacho wearily approached the shuffler. Zombies are slow and all that, but they can move surprisingly quickly when you least expect it. Chacho had been trained to deal with them, so he knew that better than most folks. He kept his shield in front of him and his club ready to swing.
As soon as the undead kid saw him, he went into Classic Zombie mode—arms up like he wanted to give Chacho a hug, and he started groaning. He dropped the leg he’d been gnawing on. It lay there forgotten as the zombie eyed fresh meat. Something black and thick dribbled out of his mouth. Maybe he wasn’t as cute as I originally thought . . .
Chacho shouted at the thing. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Probably cursing at him in Spanish. I’d heard it before; it was pretty entertaining.
When it got close enough, Chacho did a pretty good head feint to the left and when the zombie moved that way, he slammed into it with his whole body, the shield between them. The shuffler stumbled back, grunting in surprise, and then Chacho brought his club up and over from behind the shield. There was a dull crack we could hear even through the glass and then the kid’s head was barely attached to his body. It hung there at a weird angle that made me feel sick. But, of course, the kid already being dead, that didn’t stop him. So Chacho swung his club again and caught the kid on the other side of his head. That drove him to the ground.
Chacho dropped his shield onto the thing’s chest and then put all his weight on top of it. He left the head exposed, though, so he could go to town on it with the club, which he raised and brought down again and again. Pretty soon it went from a cracking sound to something like sucking mud every time he did it.
After a while, Chacho stood up and the zombie kid didn’t even twitch. Chacho stood over him, bent over with his hands on his knees, and breathed hard. After a few seconds, he took off his helmet and wiped his forehead. He placed his gear on the ground next to the body and grabbed the kid’s legs. He started to drag it toward the incinerator that lives in the back of the store. A wet trail snaked behind him from the kid’s shattered melon.
I realized that I hadn’t breathed in a while, so I took a deep breath. Sherri and a few others did the same thing. I turned and smiled at Sherri, though it felt forced. She didn’t say anything if she noticed.
“Good times at Bully Burger,” she said, and she sounded a little shaky.
“Yeah,” was all I could say.
We turned and made our way back behind the counter. Phil held the kitchen door open for us, and Sherri must have been feeling generous because she didn’t snarl at him or order him back to the depths of the store, she just mumbled a thanks and returned to the register.
Brandon and his friends were up at the counter then, Sherri at the register ready to take their order. I stood in front of the grill and Phil was in the back of the store. The only sound I heard was Chacho outside banging open the incinerator door.
We all stood like that for what seemed like a long time.
“Welcome to Bully Burger,” Sherri said finally. “How can I help you?”
I shuddered and I thought, for the millionth time, that I needed to get the hell out of this town.End of chapter one.I hope you liked that. If you did, and you have any interest in reading the rest of the book, here are some links to a number of online booksellers where you could preorder it. No pressure.
Amazon,
Barnes and Noble,
BAM!,
Indie Bound,
Powell's,
Bookish
This seems as good a reason to start writing on my blog as any, I guess.
Last week, my editor at Kensington sent me the design for Zomburbia and said I could share it. So that's what I'm gonna do. This is the art that will go on the printed ARCs (advanced reader copies) and so it may be tweaked a bit on the final product, but this should give you a good idea of what it's all about.
I think the designer(s) did a great job. I love the design elements and I think the photo is evocative without being over the top gory. I'm just over the goddammed moon about this and can't wait to hold the final product in my hand.
If you feel a similar desire, perhaps you'd consider pre-ordering the book. Something that's very helpful, I understand. I'll post links to different web sites below, but first, this:
And here are those links:
AmazonBarnes and NoblePowell'sIndie BoundYou'll notice that the pages for the book on those sites currently lack any cover art or description. Well, as an enticement, let me hit you with a couple of quotes from folks who've already read the book:
"What if the zombie apocalypse didn't get all that apocalyptic? What if lifewent on pretty much as normal for most kids, except it was incrediblydangerous just getting to and from high school? What would it be like togrow up in a weird but eerily familiar Zomburbia? Meet Courtney, a flawedbut spunky teen, and her misfit pals who are trying to find their places ina world where death lurks around every corner. Readers are guaranteedplenty of mayhem and romance, laughter and heartbreak in Adam Gallardo'saccomplished debut novel."-- James Patrick Kelly, winner of the Hugo, Nebula and Locus awards
"If you haven't read Zomburbia, you haven't read about zombies. This is a new take and it is scary, freaky, and original. Gallardo resets the zombie bar and it's sky-high. Get this book!"-- Nancy Holder, NYT Bestelling Author, The Wicked Saga
Man, if those don't make you want to read the book, I don't know what will. (I really, really hope those make you want to read the book...)
Next time I'll write a bit about what's going on with Zomburbia schedule-wise, and what's going on with the sequel.
Yours in self-promotion...
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This weekend, August 15th and 16th, I will be a guest at the inaugural Northwest Comics Fest. The brainchild of Casey Ocupe, the Fest looks like it should be a blast. Check out the story featured on OregonLive this week for a few more details.
