So here I am writing my zombie story and my lead character decides to betray me.

To write is to stand at the edge of a bottomless well, unafraid of falling in.

It’s amazing how fast you can write when there’s a gun to your head.

Creating characters is easy. It’s getting them to behave that’s the problem.

I recalled something I’d read a long time ago about Satan. When he appeared, it wouldn’t be as a demon but as an ordinary-looking guy with a convincing message of peace.

I was somewhere between angry and turned-on.

A riverless silence made the air heavy.

Smiling, he handed Landry the bloody aluminum bat Warnick had used. ‘Time to die, old man,’ he said.

She gave herself a hard twist and fell into a sitting position, staring at me with those maggot-filled doll’s eyes.

Sal turned, an eye stalk hanging from his teeth.