July 22

Dog nails and concrete sidewalks

But first, a writing update. This week I sent Last Brother, Last Sister, the novel-length “sequel” to Rot (Now with More Voodoo!) to prereaders. Whew. That only took like FOREVER. I also signed a contract, but can’t tell you what for quite yet. And I ordered some Rot promo stuff, but just a bit because I have a box of business cards and whatnot that I order and get excited about, then forget to hand out.

Now I’ll move on to even more editing, including a high-urban fantasy novel about an American bookseller kidnapped into an exotic land of kings, dragons, poisonous dogs and magical black knights. And my zombie novella completely unrelated to Rot, The List, wherein a man who was more than a little unstable to begin with has to face down a zombie apocalypse.

Now, onto the bits about dog nails and concrete sidewalks. At the day job I hear every day someone say that they try to keep their dog’s nails short by walking them on concrete. That’s great, but that means very, very little. Yes, concrete *can* help keep a dog’s nails short. Maybe. If all the right conditions are met.

First it depends on what kind of dog you have. I’m going with recognized breeds right now for simplicity. Pug nails and Lab nails grow differently. Some dogs like pugs, bassets and chihuahuas have curlier nails that are much more likely to curl up into the pad. Other dogs like labs, greyhounds and danes tend to have more long, thick type nails. Curly nails are less likely to be worn down by normal activity.

Then there is the dog’s weight. Many small dogs either are carried a lot or just don’t (erm shouldn’t) have the weight to really wear those nails down, even on concrete.

There’s also how the dog moves. Some dogs are super active and constantly use their feet in ways that lead to nail wear, usually by pushing off when running or jumping. This is why boxers often have shorter nails. And why dogs usually have shorter nails on their back feet.

And THEN there’s the consistency of the nails. Some nails flake, splinter or crack. Some practically need a chainsaw to cut. The first are likely to trim themselves (possibly by snapping, so be careful). The latter are more likely to be worn down on concrete, but are also harder to wear down period.

But what *is* certain is that nail health does directly affect a dog more than people realize. Not just because of the dangers of cracked or embedded nails either.  Particularly in big or heavy breeds nails that are too long can change how pressure is put on a dog’s foot and affect the health of the bone. It can contribute to arthritis and other joint problems, which can affect the life quality and length of the dog.

So, just walking your dog on concrete and not paying attention? Not really the greatest method to take care of their feet.

Category: Business, My Work, Personal | Comments Off on Dog nails and concrete sidewalks
June 6

Rot contest! (And free sample)

Want a free copy of Rot? Plus some? Here’s the deal. Below is a photo of a mysterious wound I suffered (okay, some of you, probably even a lot of you, know how I got it). Your job is to tell me a story, your best story, on how this wound was inflicted on my poor fragile flesh. No word limit. No genre preference. The one I like best wins:

An ebook copy of Rot

A *print* copy of Rot from the first Skullvines edition

A Rot promo package featuring, well, whatever I still have, possibly including a magnet, bookmark and postcard

Oh, plus I’ll give away two addition ebook copies of Rot.

Post your stories right here in the comments. And stick around for a free sample of Rot after the gory picture.

 

Rot

by Michele Lee

When I met Amy, she’d been back from the dead for four days. She’d been at the facility for three of those days. At that point, I’d only been there two. Not that anyone needed more than a few moments to get the gist of the place. She was more bitter about being at the facility than the being dead part, and honestly I didn’t blame her.

She had a scowl on her face as I walked into the office at the Silver Springs Care Community. She had pale skin graced with freckles, soft chin-length brown hair, and the brightest hazel eyes I had ever seen – they made the attractive, mildly chubby, early twentysomething-year-old woman into something extraordinary.

“You’re dead.” I couldn’t stop it once I’d thought it. The words fell out of my mouth like something rotten. Her scowl deepened and I felt bad immediately.

“You know, I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for telling me.”

“I didn’t mean… Look, all of the zombies I’ve seen so far have been…”

“Like them?” She pointed out the window to the grounds, where I could see a keeper leading a train of desiccated corpses on their daily walk.

The facility employed people with enough skill at raising the dead to keep the zombies’ urge to chew on people at bay. Me, I didn’t have a talent for commanding the dead. What I had was twenty-plus years of military and security experience, and the ability to look someone’s ninety-year-old grandmother in the eyes and shoot her.

The job called for all sorts of skills.

“Some of us still retain our own thoughts and personalities. I’m Amy, by the way.” She didn’t offer a hand. She held her arms across her stomach and leaned forward slightly, those eyes boring into me. She was at once defensive and furious. And absolutely lovely.

I nodded. “I’m Dean.”

“Which would you prefer, Dean? Being one of those things out there, rotted to mindlessness, or being locked in a dead body, knowing that’s the future you’ll face? Knowing that someone loved you enough not to let go, but didn’t love you enough to care for you themselves? Instead, they locked you in here where they didn’t have to see or smell you, but could take comfort in the idea that you weren’t exactly dead anymore.”

I thought both options sucked.

*****

It used to be that death, maybe even a long or violent one, would be the worst thing you’d ever have to face. In the few skirmishes I’d served in, other soldiers had taken some comfort in knowing that. But then, that was before they started raising people from the dead.

My nephew used to play a video game where the point was to wander around shooting zombies. There was only a little more to it than that: a bit of mystery; a touch of evil corporation or government conspiracy. The games said that zombies were the result of a disease.

When they started showing up in real life, people assumed the same thing. Government experimentation, biological terrorism, some sort of corporation poisoning the public – the fear and wrath from the living humans caused more damage in those days than the few confirmed zombies. I was privy to a few case reports of homegrown terrorist plots against global corporations who had nothing to do with the occasional walking dead. They were just good targets.

And there was Black Wednesday, too. Forty-five civilians dead. They never did confirm how many employees of that soda company burned, barricaded inside the building by an outraged mob.

Then the truth came out, and I still wonder how many people harbor the secret memories of doing violence that day in the name of protecting themselves or their families. Creating zombies, it turned out, was just a matter of will. The first few we caught in public had likely raised themselves – a few assholes too stubborn to die. The problem came when people started to make zombies for fun and profit. About two percent of the general public had the will to force people back from death. It was a very lucrative, unregulated business.

Places like Silver Springs came in at the end of the line. A loved one coming into our facility was a brutal lesson for those involved. Too many people fell into the category of potential customers, but not enough saw what happened once a zombie entered the gates. I don’t doubt that having a place to tuck away your loved one, who turned out to be too much for you to handle, was useful. But if more people saw the end result of never having to say goodbye, they’d damn well learn to say it.

Amy, yeah.

“So,” she said after I failed to answer her aloud, “if you don’t mind my stench, I’m here to help out.”

I declined to add fuel to her little fire. “What can you help with?”

“I’m good with computers, and organization. I’ve been an office worker and a nurse before.”

“Good, because I’m not good at any of those things.”

“Why are you here, then?”

I shrugged. It was a job. “I guess for when things go wrong.”

She snorted. I hadn’t killed her the first time. But chances were high that when she finally lost control, I’d be the one to put her down. It was a shame, but we both knew it. In another time, I’d fancy that my old ass might have a chance to enjoy the pleasure of her company, if only for dinner and conversation.

We were the only ones in the office. It wasn’t the office outsiders saw. It was more functional than the maroon and white showroom out front. For one thing, there were bars on the windows, as pretty as they were, and the steel doors were magnetically sealed, verified for at least 1800 pounds of force. The front room was unsafe should the facility go all Jurassic Park, but the rest of the building was secured.

I leaned back in the chair, propped my feet on the desk and watched the security grids on the computer screen. Amy sorted through stacks of paper mechanically. Sometimes she filed things away, sometimes she tapped madly at the keyboard, recording files or transferring them to the home office in the city. Of course, that place did nothing but record what happened here. It was our black box, not our cavalry.

“How did it happen?” I asked the silence. I was uncomfortable with Amy at my back, but more so treating her as nonexistent, like many of the other employees did. I turned toward her, still keeping the monitors in my peripheral vision. “Is that too personal?”

“Probably, but believe it or not, no one ever asked. Not here, anyway. It’s probably in my file.”

“Don’t take offense. It’s easier to keep a distance than sympathize with a terminal patient. It’s human nature to avoid pain.”

“Stroke.” Amy still wasn’t looking at me. It bothered me. I guess I thought that since she didn’t look dead, something in her eyes might betray her. Not seeing them kept me from reassuring myself.

“A stroke? But you’re so young.”

Amy shrugged. I had the feeling she was hiding a lot of how she felt. “I don’t remember dying. I just know what it says on my death certificate.”

“Morbid fascination?”

“No. My husband threw it in my face before he had them bring me here.” She paused and looked to the grassy expanse outside the barred window. “He had me raised because he couldn’t let go, but he couldn’t find it in himself to touch me. ‘You’re not my Amy anymore,’ he told me. Then he called his new girlfriend over to console him when they took me away.”

“And you didn’t fight it at all?” The thought of passively leaving the person I loved was alien to me.

“Are you kidding me? If I’d showed any emotion other than obedience, they would have napalmed me right there on the street.”

I stayed quiet. No, it seemed unfair. But I’d seen bodies in the morgue that had been savaged by angry or mindless zombies. That wasn’t exactly fair, either.

“What about you? What brings you to our fine zombie herding establishment?”

I thought about lying to make her feel better, but she’d given me the truth. “Money. This field is so specialized, it pays real well.”

Amy finally looked at me and smiled viciously. “At least my husband is paying for one of us.”

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April 29

Moon Madness (a Wolf Heart freebie)

ETA: Moon Madness is free on Kindle now! Thanks all!

I’d said I found a file of Wolf Heart-related freebies I thought I’d lost on my old computer? This is it.

It features:

-Book playlist

-A small essay on where Wolf Heart came from (and which scene actually happened)

-Characters drawn by me over the years I wrote (and rewrote) it

-and “First Date” and original short story showing a bit of the history behind some of the characters.

It’s free on Kobo, but still listed at $.99 on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I’ve been trying to change that, so feel free to report the lower price to the web gods.

Most of all, enjoy!

Category: Business, My Work | Comments Off on Moon Madness (a Wolf Heart freebie)
April 18

My social media is making me feel lonely

Facebook is restricting what you see in your feed so much (and not all of it is bad because getting a ton of likes on something then selling the page to advertises is a new trend) that I pretty much get no comments on anything that I post anymore. My partner doesn’t even see everything I post.

This is terribly irritating, but also this is exactly why I laugh at anyone who says Facebook/Twitter plugging is the best way to sell your book. It is if people are talking about and recommending your book. Or if you’re dropping money to sponsor posts. If you aren’t it’s like standing in a classroom talking to yourself in the hopes that people passing through the hall will hear you.

And speaking of writing, I’m working on a lot right now.

I’ve found a file I thought I’d lost of Wolf Heart free promo stuff (a short story, playlist and little essay I wrote about it) and have been editing and formatting it for free release. Yeah, I know, almost a year after it first came out.

I’m also editing my next big attempt at snagging an agent. You know, because I’ve also decided it’s worth it to keep trying to do so.

I’m trying to rejoin the land of the living writers, namely by running some of my chapters of said novel by the critters over at Book Country. Some people are suspicious of the site. Fine, but I like the people I’ve found there and have found little pissy-writer-ego-drama over there.

I stopped reading writer blogs and going to writer boards because I felt I was just getting involved in the same arguments and the same opinion discussions over and over. I felt like I was spinning my wheels. But maybe it also kept me motivated to keep working. Maybe.

I’m working on a few shorts as well right now with the working titles of “Deep Winter”, “The Mermaid Tank” and “The Peculiarities of Normal”. I’m excited about all three, so yay for that!

So sometimes I fell like I’m doing that talking to an empty room thing, and I get back to work only to discover I have a small audience sitting and waiting for me to say something. I just hope it’s worth their wait.