S.G. Browne

Yes, originally I said this post was going to be U is for Undead.  But Z is for Zombies, like that’s a big surprise, and it seemed kind of silly to preempt zombies with the undead, so I tried to come up with something else and, well, this was it.

Why Ulysses?  Because I have a confession to make.  I’ve never read it.  I don’t even know what it’s about.  And I have never understood any of the obscure references Dennis Miller has made about James Joyce in his stand-up routines.

And it’s not just James Joyce.  I’ve never read any Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, W. Somerset Maugham, Joseph Conrad, Jane Austen, Henry James, John Milton, H.G. Wells, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or William Faulkner.  And I hated Crime and Punishment.  Read it in my Western Lit class in high school.  The crime was that the book was ever written and the punishment was that I had to read it.

Oh, and I think Hemingway sucks.  Yes, he sucks.  His writing blows.  I don’t know how the man got published.  Yeah, I know.  His writing style had a significant impact on the development of 20th century fiction and his works are considered classic American literature, blah blah blah.

But A Farewell to Arms?  Absolute crap. It’s filled with run-on sentences, repetitive use of qualifiers (like VERY lame), and frequent stretches of dialogue involving multiple characters with no indication as to who’s speaking. Plus, the death scene at the end, where Catherine is in the hospital and the main character, Frederic, is trying to comfort her.  I don’t have the book in front of me, but I seem to recall the dialogue going something like this:

“I love you,” he said.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you.”
She smiled weakly. “And I love you.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you.”
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you.”

And don’t tell me that’s how they wrote back in the 1920s.  Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, published four years prior to A Farewell to Arms, had beautiful language and believable dialogue.  Hemingway is an overrated hack.

So what is this blog entry actually about and what the hell does it have to do with Breathers or zombies?  Nothing.  Except for the fact that I am obviously not a student of literature and have drawn on none of the famous literary giants in my own writing.  Well, except maybe for Fitzgerald.  Though someone wrote a review of Breathers and mentioned something about channeling Faulkner, which is funny since I’ve never read him, so I have no idea how I channeled the man.
Oh, and I also don’t know what a gerund is.  Though I’m pretty sure I know how to use it.

(Next entry: V is for van Gogh…or maybe Vampires)

On Friday, July 10, San Francisco’s undead rose up to make their groans and voices heard as they protested for equal rights, love, and brains.

Tired of getting shot in the head, randomly dismembered, and tossed into fires, zombies of all races and states of decay shuffled and dragged themselves to the steps of San Francisco’s City Hall to let the living know that they are fed up with the name calling, the discrimination, and the getting pelted with expired food products.

Just because we feel no physical pain doesn’t mean we can’t get our feelings hurt.

While two zombies were chased away from a wedding photo shoot, causing the police to drive by to make sure things didn’t get out of control, there were a number of Breathers present acting as advocates for zombie rights, including S.G. Browne, who was interviewed by an independent film crew on hand to document the protest.

For the most part the protest was peaceful, with more than two dozen zombies on hand to try to push across the point that zombies are people, too. A photographer with SF Weekly showed up and took a number of photos of the event.

This is Andy the Zombie, reporting the truth as it’s portrayed by the corporate media.

(This is a feature from Undead Anonymous where Andy, the main protagonist of Breathers, answers your questions.)

This installment of Ask Andy comes from Anthony, who asks:

Will you be back in another great novel?

Well Anthony, if I had my way I would, but I have to leave that up to the so-called creator of my world, the author of Breathers, who at this point is non-committal about whether or not there’s a sequel.  According to him, if he can come up with something fresh and original, something that doesn’t just seem like a derivative of Breathers, then he’d be willing to consider it.

But from what I’ve heard, he’s just sold his second novel and as far as I know, I’m not in it.  Some other guy named Fabio is the main character and is apparently the immortal personification of Fate.  I guess a reanimated corpse wasn’t good enough anymore.  Whatever.  I guess I’ll just sit around and twiddle my thumb and wait for the phone to ring.

Thanks for the question.

4000 zombies showed up in the Fremont neighborhood of Seattle, WA, on Friday, July 3rd to break the Guinness Book of World Records. And yours truly was there to be a part of it.

The event, officially titled the Red, White, & Dead Zombie Party, was put together by Ryan Reiter and his team from the Fremont Outdoor Cinema, who provide “almost” free outdoor movies every summer in Seattle complete with pre-movie entertainment that capitalizes on the theme of that week’s film. An ABBA sing along for Mama Mia. A styling contest for Edward Scissorhands. And with Shaun of the Dead being the third film on this year’s schedule, Ryan decided to do up something big and shoot for the largest zombie walk in the record books.

My part in the event kicked off at Fremont Place Books for a reading and signing of Breathers, which was attended by fifteen or so friends, fans, and local authors, including Seattle scribes Mark Henry and Cherie Priest, who were decked out in their zombie finest. Also attending were surprise guests, Andy and Rita, who stopped by to show their support for zombie rights.

After the reading, I shambled down the street to the set of parking lots where Ryan and the crew from Fremont Outdoor Cinema were in full countdown mode, taking care of final preparations as the horde of zombies waiting to get in stretched down the street and wrapped around the block. When 6pm rolled around, the doors opened and the zombies flooded in, bloodied and rotting and sporting screwdrivers and knives that protruded from chest wounds.

Of course, the problem with having several thousand zombies staggering around waiting for direction is that they can tend to get bored and hungry, so to distract them until they were able to begin their walk, they were treated to a Zombie Fashion Show and the musical offerings from Kyle Stevens of Kirby Krackle Music, who sang such hits as “Naked Wii” and “Zombie Apocalypse.” And for those who wanted to shake their rotting booties, there was a mass “Thriller” tribute dance that was shuffled to by 2000 zombies strong.

There was also a booth set up at the event, courtesy of Fremont Place Books, which sold copies of World War Z, The Zombie Survival Guide, Pride & Prejudice & Zombies, and Breathers. Fortunately, quite a number of zombies still have enough brain function to read, so I had the pleasure of meeting some fans and signing their books. Though I did have a couple of people tell me how much they loved World War Z and wanted me to sign it for them. I had to explain that unfortunately, Max Brooks wasn’t able to attend the event.

Finally, around 10pm, once the record-breaking zombie walk had taken place through the streets of the Fremont Street neighborhood, all the remaining zombies pulled out their chairs and blankets and sat down for the screening of Shaun of the Dead. At which point, this zombie went out for a drink with some local friends and then climbed back into my coffin to get some sleep.

You have to understand about Tom.

First of all, he lives with his mother. Sure, so do I, but Tom was living with his mother before the pair of Presa Canarios tore into him like Mike Tyson going after Evander Holyfield’s earlobe.

Second, Tom is what Jerry would call a Magoo. A doofus. Sweet and naive. The kind of person others would have made fun of even when he was a Breather. Chances are pretty good that Tom was the kid in your high school who wore corduroy and plaid, who ate lunch by himself, and who routinely had his clothes stolen from his gym locker. The phrase atomic wedgie comes to mind.

Third, even among zombies, Tom is self-conscious. Sure, we all finger our stitches and our wounds or play with little knobs of exposed bone, but Tom obsesses with his loose flaps of skin as though he either can’t get used to the idea that they’re real or else he thinks he can somehow make them go away.

Now his right arm is gone. Stolen. As a prank. Without any regard to his feelings or his sense of equilibrium. And that’s just not right…

The previous entry was lifted from Chapter 14 of Breathers, partly because it’s the best description of Tom, partly because it’s in the voice of Andy, and partly because I felt lazy this morning and couldn’t come up with anything fresh or clever to say about Tom.

But suffice it to say that Tom plays an important role in Breathers, as the crime perpetrated against him by the fraternity pledges inspires Andy to take a stand for the rights of zombies.  True, the dismemberment of Walter gets Andy moving along his path initially, but with Tom, the cause becomes more personal.

(Next entry:  U is for Undead)