50 Shades of Dead

zombieman's picture

I really meant to write up the sex scene tonight. While driving in my car on the way to my coffee spot I was thinking, “I’m gonna get that scene out, before I forget it.” Then I went back to composing my obituary:

Des Moines, IA (AP) – Mark Clodi died on July 31st, 2012 from injuries sustained while driving eastbound on Interstate 80. He was killed when a twelve foot section of fence carried precariously in the back of G. Romero’s six foot pickup bed came loose and shattered on the pavement, pelting mister Clodi’s vehicle with 2x4s. One of the pieces of lumber flew through his windscreen and impaled him through the chest, pinning him to his seat where rescuers fought to free him for almost two hours before he passed away. His last words were, “Bummer, dude, I just got my car fixed.” Mister Clodi is survived by his wife of 18 years, Anne, and at least five known children aged 10 to 25.


What? Are you telling me you never thought about this sort of thing? Really? It’s just me? Okay, anyway back to the sex scene. I’m working on a bit of a side story (save your groans, I started this one over a year ago, so it’s not like it’s a NEW side story or something) and there is sex involved, sort of adds to the story, more like the meat in the chili than the chili pepper, a bit more substantially than my usual fare, put it that way. I didn’t mean to start in again on this one, after all I have TZC4 to finish up (it’s going well, look for a release around Thanksgiving), Contender to write on for the weekly update (also going well) and, of course, there is Fraser, that ginger haired child of mine from a previous dalliance. But, what the muse wants, he gets (my muse has always been male, looks kinda like one of my friends, strictly platonic…after that one time). SO yesterday when I sat down to type out a couple grand of words, ‘Dead Weight’ came to mind and I had to poke around on the computer and see if I had a copy of it. Yep, so might as well take a little peek, no harm in doing that, right?

Two hours later I wrapped it up, my mind spinning with how I want to write it, where is it going and how I’m going to get it there. It is darker, not my usual crystal clear good guys and bad guys, so I’m pretty happy I opened that file. But today…despite my best efforts, I haven’t touched it. I needed to get some Contender written for this week and preferably for next week too. It takes a lot off of my mind if I am a chapter or two ahead on the weekly. The two and a half chapters I got done of Contender tonight went smoothly, I like them and there is loads of violence to keep the zombie horde satisfied too.  As soon as I closed up the laptop to come home I started thinking of DW again though, so I know I’ll be devoting another night or two to that this week.

50 Shades of Dead. I thought of that as a parody, or maybe not, of 50 Shades of Gray. In my mind, much like my obituary, I came up with the short script to go on the back of the book:

Ellen Harper had never known freedom until the dead rose and took everything away from her. Her husband was devoured, her young children were never found at the summer camp and all of her extended family hadn’t made it to Iowa and safety. After three years of moving from place to place in various refugee camps Ellen finally had a permanent apartment assignment and, best of all, a job that came with a blue ration card. Now single and with a place of her own she has started to go out and mingle with her fellow survivors, trying to make friends and form relationships in the brave new post-apocalyptic world. Unfortunately there is a distinct lack of one thing she hasn’t had in a long time: men. Most of them are off fighting or pushing up daisies and the few who come back from the front lines have their choice of any 18 year old, flaxen haired, blue-eyed beauty; their eyes never linger long on her dark haired, 30 year old self.

All is not lost, however, the dead don’t remain mindless forever, as they consume the living they regain their intellectual and, some, regain a taste for more than just the flesh and blood of the living. Ellen has blood, she can pay for what she wants. Gone is the innocent woman meekly sending her husband to work and caring for her children’s needs.  With always impending doom hanging over her head Ellen is determined to get what she wants while there is still time, but if she is going to pay for it with ounces of her precious red fluid, she is going to have exactly what she wants. A few discrete inquiries and Ellen is on her way to ‘Club Dead’ on the outskirts of Kansas City, where she is assured that all of her needs will be taken care of.


Ah, there could be a book there, or a series, who knows?

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