S.G. Browne

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

Dane Zomboy Patrick from the cyber land of Yahoo! asks:

Do you guys ever have any problems with parts falling off? My left arm keeps dropping to the ground?

Yes Dane, parts falling off is a common problem among zombies and a constant source of embarrassment and shame.  Imagine the humiliation of impotence, only instead of not being able to become physically aroused, your uncooperative member falls off.

While I personally haven’t suffered the indignity of spontaneous dismemberment, as it’s called in the community, I know a number of zombies who have had to seek counseling to deal with the emotional fallout.  And if that’s not bad enough, fraternities often send their pledges on scavenger hunts for zombie appendages.

As for the problem with your arm, I suggest suturing it in place or even using a staple gun.  But if the flesh at the point of attachment has started to turn and the sutures just keep tearing out, then you might want to try some duct tape.

Thanks for the question…

Back in the spring of 2002, I was working on the re-writes of my second and third novels for submission to a couple of small press publishers in the horror community.  Each of the publishers had expressed enthusiastic interest for my novels and it looked like, after more than a decade of writing with the hopes of become a published novelist, I was finally going to realize my dreams.

But then a funny thing happened.  I started to hate what I was writing.

Both novels were of the supernatural horror variety, influenced by a steady diet of King, Straub, Koontz, and McCammon that I’d fed on as a teenager and young adult.  And although I was proud of both novels, the more time I spent re-writing them, the more I realized that I was growing to hate them.

What had once been fun had now become tedious, painful work.

So after struggling with the rewrites for several months, I told the two small presses that I wouldn’t be submitting the manuscripts and I kissed my opportunity to become a published novelist goodbye.

Then I stopped writing.

For the next year and a half I played a lot of golf and spent more time reading and playing with my dog.  I wrote a best man’s speech based on Hamlet (“To wed or not to wed, that is the question…”) and a 40th birthday poem for my wife based on The Raven (“Once upon a birthday dreary…”), but that was about it.

Sometime in the middle of all of this, I read Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk.

Although I’d seen Fight Club (one of my favorite all time films), I’d never read the novel or any of Palahniuk’s other books.  But for some reason, this novel resonated with me on a level I hadn’t previously experienced.  And when I was done, I had an “a-ha” moment.

While my three novels and four dozen short stories had all predominantly been influenced by my love of horror, I’d written a few short stories that were dark comedy with a supernatural edge to them.  But I’d never thought about writing anything other than straight horror novels.

Lullaby changed all that.

After finishing Lullaby, I began to think about turning a short story of mine into a full-length novel.  The story, “A Zombie’s Lament,” dealt with a group of zombies who attend Undead Anonymous meetings and yearn for civil rights.  About a year later, I wrote the opening scene for Breathers.

(Next entry:  M is for Maggots)

(This entry brought to you courtesy of Andy)

I supposed K could have been for Kill.  (Obvious)  Or Kidney.  (Good stuffed in mushrooms)  Or Kinky.  (Zombie sex)  Or even Kyanize, which is defined as:

to make resistant to decay by treatment with a solution of mercuric chloride

Of course, this only pertains to wood, which doesn’t help the living dead and would only cause Jerry to snicker and make some comment about “sporting wood…”

Jerry: Dude, you said “wood.”

See what I mean?  So you get the point.  In any case, none of them appealed to me or to the author, who is a bit of a shut-in and could use a trip to the Hustler Club, if you get my drift.  So we ended up going with Kibosh.

Why Kibosh?  Because of this line in Breathers:

“…being able to smell your own rotting flesh tends to put the kibosh on your belief in a divine power.”

Needless to say, zombies don’t tend to have a lot of faith in God.  You don’t see the undead shambling to the local church in their Sunday best to sing the praises of a higher intelligence.  Most of us would rather stay home and watch football.  Or curl up with a good book and a cup of tea.

Once you reanimate, you wonder what kind of God would purposely do this to you?  Never mind about the life that you’ve lost and are now forced to watch from the sidelines.  Forget about the way your dog rolls on your or the way your cats use you for a scratching post.  What you wonder is what kind of a higher intelligence would bring you back from the dead to be ridiculed and vilified and imprisoned in a zombie zoo?  Or worse, on a reality TV show?  While it’s bad enough to have to deal with the embarrassment of public sloughage, there’s nothing worse than suffering through the indignities of putrefaction on network television.

It’s enough to turn even the most devout believers into skeptics, so it’s not surprising that zombies can tend to get a little surly.  Of course, just because we have our doubts about the existence of a supreme being doesn’t mean we don’t have a conscience.  After all, when you’ve started eating human flesh, even if you’ve never believed in God or heaven, you still tend to wonder about eternal damnation.

(Next entry:  L is for Lullaby)

A conversation between Andy, the main character in Breathers, and Jerry, his best friend…

Andy: Jerry is a twenty-one-year-old car crash victim with an exposed brain and very little self awareness.
Jerry: (Waving)  Hey.

Andy:  They can’t see you, Jerry.  This isn’t on television.

Jerry:  Oh.  (Simulates masturbation)  So they can’t see this?

Andy:  (ignoring Jerry) A fifth of Jack Daniels, half a dozen bong hits, no seat belt, a utility pole, and bad judgment on a right-hand turn sent Jerry through the windshield of his cherry red 1974 Charger and skidding along River Street on his face.

Jerry: Road rash city.
Andy:  Which is how he ended up as a member of Undead Anonymous.

Jerry:  Total bummer.

Andy: Yes.  But maybe you wouldn’t be a zombie if you would have exercised a little more common sense behind the wheel of your car.

Jerry: Dude, you fell asleep while driving home from a party and like, totally killed your wife.

(Sound of crickets chirping)

Jerry: Sorry dude.  That was harsh.

Andy: It’s okay.  At least I don’t wear my baseball hat sideways and my pants halfway down my ass.

Jerry: (hiking up his pants)  It’s the style, dude.  The chicks dig it.

Andy: Breather women don’t dig undead, decomposing slackers.

Jerry: Yeah, but there’s some totally hot zombie chicks out there who are interested in a good stiffy.

Andy:  You’re referring to your permanent, post-mortem erection.

Jerry:  Terminal boner, dude.

Andy:  Jerry fancies himself a ladies man among zombies.

Jerry:  (popping a couple of peppermint Altoids)  Curiously strong.

Andy:  Yeah, well, they’ll have to be more than curious to have an impact on your breath.

Jerry:  Or I could go around wearing women’s make-up like you.
Andy:  I think we’re done here.

Jerry: (removing his hat and leaning forward) Dude, you wanna touch my brain?

(Next entry:  K is for ???  Send me your suggestions)

“Up until about three weeks after death, the internal organs of a corpse can still be identified.  After that, the internal organs turn to chicken soup.”

The previous culinary analogy was something I gleaned from a wonderful book titled STIFF: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach.  From STIFF, I also learned about cadaver impact testing, that unembalmed dead people basically dissolve, and that when maggots feast on the subcutaneous fat of a corpse, it sounds like Rice Krispies.

Snap, crackle, pop.

Throw in the fact that marshmallow is made from gelatin, which is derived from the collagen inside the skin and bones of pigs and cows, and suddenly those Rice Krispie treats don’t sound so appetizing.

In addition to the helpful tidbits of information I found in STIFF, I read an enlightening on-line article by Dr. Trisha Macnair about human decomposition that explained how, in the tropics, a corpse can become a moving mass of maggots within twenty-four hours.

Both of these sources helped me to add a visceral reality to Andy’s world that I couldn’t have made up.

I think it’s impossible to write a work of fiction without doing some research.  I don’t know about other writers, but I’m not a bottomless source of information, so I need some help when my imagination fails me. And adding some facts to the fiction makes the story more believable.

When I write, the story typically unfolds as I’m writing it, so I don’t always know what research I’ll need to do until it becomes apparent that the scene or chapter I’m writing needs some help.  Like the scene where Andy discusses the different types of wine he’s consuming (I’m a Boddington’s man).  Or the chapter where Andy’s mother helps him apply make-up.

In addition to researching what happens to human bodies post mortem, I read the TV Guide to make sure I knew what programs were on and when, visited an on-line wine store to improve Andy’s beverage selection in his parents wine cellar, hung out in the Soquel Cemetery for a couple of hours with a notepad, and studied up on the different shades and brands of Rita’s lipstick.  I also read up on how to preserve game meat, who’s involved in a television production crew, what people have as their first memory, and how to apply concealer, foundation, and contouring powder.

I’m sure I’ve made some errors in my research.  Although I am a man, occasionally I do make mistakes.  But I had a lot of fun blending fact and fiction to create the world in which Breathers exists and try to make it believable.

(Next entry:  J is for Jerry)