Author interviews: seeing double.

I've been interviewed by the wonderful Claire C. Riley on her Limerence blog, which can be found here: http://clairecriley.weebly.com/3/post/2013/02/author-spotlightmichael-matula.html

Also, my favorite editor, Felicia A. Sullivan, interviewed me for her Facebook page, which can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/indieeditor/posts/571535396190401

Questions include: "Tell us your plan for riding out the zombie apocalypse", "Have you always wanted to be a writer?" and "What's the best piece of advice you've been given in regards to your writing?"

The Wind and the Damned

This is my flash fiction horror story, originally published on deadlyeverafter.com.  If you like what you read, please check out Try Not To Burn, my horror novel set in the afterlife, available now on Amazon, Amazon UK, and Amazon Canada, as well as on Nook.  It's also available in paperback on Amazon in the US and the UK.  You can check out an excerpt of the book on this blog, or click "look inside" on Amazon to preview the book.  

The Wind and the Damned

by Michael David Matula

These days, I don't go out much. No one does, as far as I can tell. What's the point, really? What's even out there anymore? Is anything alive? I can't even remember the last time I heard a bird's buoyant chirp or the neighborhood dogs' throaty barks. 

Not that I really listen all that much for them. I mostly just sleep, drink what's left of the booze I scrounged up from Mr. Sarven's place down the street, and daydream about the so-called “good old days.” You know the ones: The days when the world wasn't royally fucked; the days when a man could step outside his humble home without clutching a weapon in his fists; and the days when life was worth living. 

Those days are long gone, though. Only the daydreams remain. 

Daydreams, and a whole bunch of empty bottles.

“Shit.” 

Oh. And Joan. Joan remains. Daydreams, empty bottles, and Joan. 

She mostly just sits around and swears, though. 

“What now?” I ask, watching the wiry redhead face-palm as she continues to rock back and forth in her lime-green easy chair, swaying to a rhythm only she can hear. 

She doesn't look at me. She never does. I've heard a few girls tell me “Not if you were the last man on Earth” before. I'd just always assumed they were bluffing. 

Not Joan, though. She's sticking to her guns. 

I sigh miserably as I watch her. 

I may not be in the best shape of my life, and sure, my hair might be thinning a tad at the back, and, you know, I've currently got a few Cheeto dust stains on my green and white stripey shirt, but hell...

...I might really be the last man on Earth, and that should count for something, shouldn't it? 

“You heard it, right?” Joan asks, still not glancing at me, still rocking back and forth. 

“Heard what?” I ask right back, ever the conversationalist. 

“The wailing outside. You heard the wailing outside, right?” 

“That's the wind,” I inform her, even as I wonder why she feels the need to do this. My nerves are already frayed enough as is, I don't really need my platonic new housemate to constantly remind me we're up a certain creek without a certain paddle. 

“It's not the wind,” she insists. “They always say it's the wind. They always say it's the wind, and they're always wrong. It's them. It's the wailing, and it means we're both dead. We're dead, Stanley.”

“Would it kill you to look at me?” I want to ask. 

I don't, though. I just listen again. I hate to admit it, but Joan's got me spooked. 

But I only hear the wind. That was all it was. The wind. Rushing and whistling to its blustery heart's content. 

“There it is again,” Joan says. 

I shake my head. “Would you please stop trying to freak me out? Things are bad enough as it is without--” 

That's when I finally hear it. My breath caught in my throat, my heart practicing cartwheels in my chest, I hear the high-pitched shriek cutting through the sound of the heavy gusts. 

It was them, after all. 

The banshee wail of the hunting party's spotter. The telltale scream of the herald of the damned. The spearhead of an army of monsters that had blanketed the Earth and torn most of humanity asunder.

I really hate that wail. 

I set my hands on my knees and push myself up off my cot, heft up my pruning shears and my UV flashlight, and glance over at Joan. 

She just keeps rocking. 

The wailing just keeps growing louder. 

“Might as well let 'em all eat me now,” I mutter under my breath as my feet clomp up the stairs of the musty cellar towards the doorway. 

I place my hand on the doorknob, preparing to enter the house and await the coming of the damned, and possibly meet my maker as well. 

“See you later, Joan,” I tell her, shooting what may be my last glimpse at what may be the last woman in the world. 

She doesn't respond. 

I shrug and flip on the UV light. 

I hear glass shatter as the damned burst into the house beyond the cellar door. I hear the claws at the ends of their twisted limbs clattering across the tile floor of the kitchen. 

The wailing stops. 

The damned like it to be quiet when they feed.

The Next Big Thing Q&A

I've just been tagged by a very lovely and talented pair of writers, Jaclyn Aurore and Julie Rainey in the Next Big Thing Blog Chain Whatsit. (I believe that's the full name, though I could be mistaken).

Apparently, we each answer the same ten questions or something, and then choose five more people to carry this on, until no one's left standing. It's basically Highlander, I think.

Anyways, here are the ten questions:

1. What is the working title of your book?

Try Not to Burn.

2. Where did the idea for the book come from?

I originally wrote a short story just out of high school, about a man who wakes up in purgatory, and meets up with a group of other people who died before asking forgiveness for their sins. I later took that story and wrote a pair of novels out of it, the first of which has just been published.

I've always loved horror stories, and there aren't too many things that scare people more than death, and what might be awaiting them if they mess up in life and go to the wrong corner of the afterlife. 
 

3. What genre does it fall under?

It's a mixture of horror, suspense, and sci-fi. It's not exactly a romance (the sequel starts to kick it up a notch, though), but there is a bit of a love triangle aspect thrown into the mix. 
 

4. What actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Brandon Morales: Edgar Ramirez from Domino.  

Samantha Reiss, a natural beauty with a mean streak and a ponytail: Evangeline Lilly from Lost. 

Jane Calrin: I just saw Dredd last night, and Olivia Thirlby looks quite a bit like what I imagined when I wrote the character, even down to the haircut, although Jane's a redhead. 
 

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A horror novel set in purgatory, about three lost souls struggling towards redemption. 
 

6. Will your book be self-published or be represented by an agency?

It was published by Post Mortem Press, a small independent publisher from Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

Two or three months, I think, though this was a number of years ago. I've done a few other drafts since then, all of which took a ton of time themselves. The first draft was when I was just getting started writing, so it was pretty rough. 
 

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

The Divine Comedy or Paradise Lost would probably be the closest I could think of, though the Bible--I think it was self-published a while back--is also a pretty big influence. My publisher has called my book “The Hunger Games in Hell,” though that book's still on my “to read” list. And by that, I mean I'll probably catch the movie at some point and tell people I read the book. 
 

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Depending on what you believe in, it was either me or God. I'm still not quite sure myself, sometimes.

10. What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

It's funny, it's heartfelt, and it asks serious questions about life and death. Does everyone deserve forgiveness? Would God condemn a good man to suffer for all eternity, or is there another reason why Brand was sent to this place? And if you're like Sam, and you've given up all hope of redemption and accepted your fate, can you ever start believing again?

Is it too late for some of us, or is there hope for us all?

And now, the next links in the chain:

I'll be honest, I'm not much of a stickler for rules, so this might end up being more of a blog loop than a blog chain.

http://clairecriley.weebly.com/

http://ryannegumfory.weebly.com/

http://pat-writersforum.blogspot.com/

http://josephdibartolo.blogspot.com/

http://chrisbostic.weebly.com/