The Dead Tell Tales

Hello all. I know, I know... I've been neglecting you. Unfortunately, the needs of the real world have been  taking up most of my life for quite some time now. Bills need paid, things need done, and there just doesn't seem to be enough time, money and energy to get to them all. However, I would like to let all of you know that I just released a new book, titled "The Dead Tell Tales". (Note; blogger is being quite difficult in allowing me to post the cover art by my son, Jordan Rhodes, here. You'll have to click on the link to see it. Apologies.) It's a collection of zombie short stories and novellas from different points in my writing career. For those of you that have read this blog since I started it, you may recognize one or two of the stories. Otherwise, most of the stories have not been published elsewhere. For you "Area 187; Almost Hell" fans, though, pay attention; "The Dead Tell Tales" includes the entire prologue to the forthcoming sequel, "Area 187; Almost Home" (yes, it is a real thing, and yes, I am still writing it) as well as a look back into the Area's past with a story that many people have told me they wanted to see starring everyone's favorite old, grizzled-yet-loveable grave robber, Jasper Connelly. My wife/editor, Anna M. Lowther, even weighs in with a tale of her own in the collection that classes up the pages as well.


No matter how you like your zombies; shambling, running, talking, or even magical, I've got you covered in "The Dead Tell Tales". Want alternate history? Done. Want to hear a zombie pontificate on the human condition? Got it. Want happy endings? Er... okay, maybe, like, one or so depending on your life outlook. But otherwise, you want the dead, I got the dead.


This is the first of, I hope, many new books and novels that will be coming out from Marime Press, a publishing house we have founded with the release of "The Dead Tell Tales". But, for this thing to get off the ground, I need your help. Please, check out "The Dead Tell Tales". And, if you haven't yet, take a look at the reviews for "Area 187; Almost Hell" and act accordingly. As I write this, I have yet to gain a single review for "The Dead Tell Tales", so for those of you that live to be first, here's your chance.


I am still working on "Area 187; Almost Home", and I promise you that it will see release within at least your children's lifetimes. It will likely be another large book, mostly because I don't seem to know when to shut up, and these things take time. So bear with me, and until then take a look at "The Dead Tell Tales". Your support now will allow Marime Press to grow, supporting not only me but eventually other small-press authors. As always, thanks for your readership, your support, and to whoever it is that keeps sending me mackerel, please stop. I have enough.


                                                                              Just write, damn it

There Ought to be a Law - Rant

Warning...

This isn't fiction, or an article, or even a recipe for red velvet cake. This is a rant about some random things that just piss me the hell off. Why, you ask? Just fucking because, that's why. So, if you are easily offended...well, if you're easily offended why the fuck are you here anyway? - Author

There Ought to Be a Law…

□ Smoking Bans

In this lovely state of Ohio it a crime to light up pretty much anywhere outside your house. Even then, I think you’re limited to the hours of 10 p.m.–2 a.m., and then only on the third Saturday of the month. They say it’s for the protection of the non–smoking public and for the protection of workers that are employed in restaurants, bars etc.

News Flash…
If you work there, you knew the risks when you took the job and nobody’s holding a gun to your head to pull that tap or serve that smoky table. And ask any waitress that wants the graveyard shift on the weekends; drunk smokers are often the best tippers. Smokers may go out to the bar and chatter their teeth or sweat to death outside to have a smoke, but I’ll bet you they don’t go hang out very long at Denny’s or Eat ‘n Park to put some food on top of the booze before going home. Take–out business goes up, tips go down. Besides, whatever happened to letting the marketplace dictate conditions? If I own a business and I have a sizeable customer base that tells me through word or going somewhere else with their money that they want a smoke–free environment, if I want their business then I’ll do something about it. Lots of places did it before the bans, and it seemed to work just fine for them. I know it’s bad for me. I know it may eventually kill me. So will booze and broads. Nobody’s outlawing them, now are they? Noooo. Can’t do that. I bet booze and broads kill far more than cigarettes do. There ought to be a law…

□ Turnpikes

If I have to pay to use the road, why the hell is there a speed limit? And for that matter, they’re always under construction; lanes closed, speeds reduced… shouldn’t they discount the tolls when they’re limiting your use of the road you’re paying good money to travel? There ought to be a law…

□ Packing Cigarettes

Okay all you Gen X, Y and whatever the hell letter they’re on now. Take a little advice from a career smoker; STOP BEATING THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR CIGARETTE PACKS. A few good taps against the heel of your hand is all that’s required to pack the tobacco inside those little coffin nails. When I hear you two tables away, beating the hell out of your fresh pack of cloves or Newports or what have you for the better part of five minutes, I and every other guy out there with half a lung want to walk over and punch you in the throat. It’s really annoying, and it’s unnecessary. Oh, and by the by, when you tap the top of the pack, then flop it over and tap the bottom of the pack, then repeat for 10 minutes, you’re defeating your purpose. Tapping the top of the pack forces the tobacco to pack down at the filter. What do you geniuses think happens when you tap the other end in the same fashion? And don’t give me that “it crimps the paper so tobacco won’t fall out” bullshit. You’re not hitting hard enough to do that to any benefit. Just stop it. Please. There ought to be a law…oh, wait, in Ohio there is…

□ Those of you with monster SUV's and pickup trucks that work in offices

You have a vehicle that’s supposedly designed for off–road use and you come to an almost dead-stop on those little ¼ inch rises going into parking lots and on speed bumps. And don’t tell me you bought that huge pickup truck because you never know when you may need to help your buddy move his bull rhinoceros. The rest of the world knows it’s a compensation issue, but the cover story is easier to tell than if you would have bought a sports car. But, if for some reason you feel this big ball will stop spinnin’ if you don’t have that $40,000 SUV in your driveway then for the love of Baby Jeebus learn how to park the damn thing using only one space. There ought to be a law…

□ Professional Wrestling Fans

You'll note I didn’t say Professional Wrestling. Those guys have got their shit together. Millions and millions and millions of dollars and the marketing machine rolls on. It’s the fans that piss me off. Even the ones that say “I know it isn’t real…” Especially the ones that say “I know it isn’t real…”. And while the actors are certainly athletic, it also isn’t a sport. Please don’t give me that load of horseshit again. Sports don’t have scripts. And let me let you in on a little secret… if I come running at you and hit you in the head with a cinderblock, guess what happens in the really–real world? You fucking die. Period. You don’t stand there and start shaking with this really cool look in your eyes then rip your shirt off and start performing aerial acrobatics off the turnbuckles. You die. End. Of. Fucking. List. Against these people breeding? There ought to be a law…

□ NASCAR Fans

But first let me qualify. Not ALL NASCAR fans, just the ones that have the stickers on their cars and then do 60 m.p.h. in the hammer lane. Whatever happened to emulating your heroes, huh? Either take the stickers off or hit the gas pedal. This is especially true when you mix this one with the aforementioned “Those of you with monster SUV's and pickup trucks that work in offices” crowd. Hint: the accelerator is the long, skinny pedal on the right. The more you push it down, the faster you go. There ought to be a law…

□ Flagmen (or the variant Flagwomen) in Construction Zones

Fuck! Would you pay attention? Your job is not that difficult. I mean, don’t ruin your good gig by letting traffic back up for 6 miles in rush hour for outbound traffic while you leave the inbound lane with its all–of–6 cars open for a half hour. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, realize 2 things;
1) The people that sit there waiting for you to do simple arithmetic aren’t making $22/hour to sit there like you are, and
2) you could be easily replaced by a bucket of sand to hold your sign and a simple motor, belt and remote control commonly available at Radio Shack for about $15.00. There ought to be a law…

□ Using Your Religion to Tacitly Explain why You are an Asshole

Or why you are better than someone else. Or why you obviously know far more about the world and are far more enlightened because you can find East without a compass or moss on a tree or anything. Or why your viewpoint on a religion or a people has more credibility because you fucked somebody once who’s sister’s cousin’s uncle’s former roommate’s next–door neighbor was a(n) <insert chosen minority/nationality/et al here>. For the love of God (and I mean that), get the fuck over it already. You’re just as screwed up as I am, and you don’t know shit from Shinola anymore than I do when it comes to what, if anything, is out there. Or what, if anything really is out there, it/he/she wants from us. There ought to be a law…

□ Giving an Asshole such as Yours Truly a Forum

That’s just insane. There ought to be a law…

Until next time, just write, damn it.