Tag Archives: zombie-fiction

How to Get Inspired For Writing.

“Inspiration is like vomiting.”

For the past few weeks or so, I’ve been struggling with trying to take push myself to write.  I literally didn’t make any attempt to write thinking that some muse or some writing energy would engulf me and take care of it for me.  2 weeks past, 14 days, a whole bunch of hours, and still no writing.  I spent my time marketing my blog in different websites and forums.  I ended meeting a lot of great people and even having some rather interesting conversations.  I just, for some reason, didn’t have the passion to write.

Earlier this week I forced it.  I drew out several paragraphs and found myself rambling.  My thoughts weren’t fluid, they were rambling on and moving sporadically.  I started off with an idea, an idea that I preemptively thought of months ago, and I just kept expanding and expanding.  I ended up expanding so much that I lost grasp of what I was writing in the first place.  In most other times that I’ve started writing, I have floated out of the range of my original idea, but I was always able to tie myself back.  Those past instances when I started writing earlier this week, that didn’t happen.

Yesterday, I opened a book which was a collection of poetry by T.S. Eliot.  I put it down, as I wasn’t in the mood to read rhyming verses.  I went on the computer and searched for Neruda.  Good ole Pablo Neruda never failed.  I read a few poems, I even wrote one down in cursive to get the feel of writing poetry again.  Then, I wrote my own.  The poem I wrote was about the time I spent waiting to see my girlfriend again.  It was pretty solid, I was content with it.  So content, that I actually ended up sending it to my girlfriend which wasn’t something I planned on doing.

I ended up writing the previous sub-chapter for Zidia, #6: Could You Stop, You’re Breathing Too Loud. Actually, after that I also wrote a song on guitar, which wasn’t bad actually.

Today, after work, I fell asleep for a few hours.  I looked up poetry by Ruben Dario.  First I found one that rhymed and simply continued my search.  Personally, I just think rhyming takes away from the overall rhythm and texture of a poem.  I read a few poems by Dario that had no rhymes, and then I started writing my most recent personal development post:  The Popular Kid Was Never That Good at Talking to Women. It stopped writing at 1,050 words, and left it to be continued.  I felt accomplished.

There’s something about the playfulness of poetry and the lack of structure that helps me explore the music behind words.  It’s something that feels like I’m standing in front of some scenic view.  Nature doesn’t have to make sense, and neither does poetry.  In attempt to explain and destroy the magic of being enthralled, this can all fit in a simple theoretical equation.

  • Nature, or any type of scenic horizon, plays with our senses, which gives off an inspiration.
  • Poetry plays with our writing senses, which gives off an inspiration for writing.

This is just something I’m trying and something I feel is worth experimenting with.

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#6 Zidia: Could You Stop, You’re Breathing Too Loud

Bethany walked out onto the street. Their new companions stared at her with stolid faces. Her eyes burnt of red anguish from her slightly forgotten tension. She weakly pushed her body forward as she came closer to the cars where everyone stood watching her make her pathetic attempt to continue living a life she had no interest in moving forward with.

“Peter, drive the Camry around,” Chase said, “It looks like we’re leaving.”

Peter nodded his head. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and squeezed behind the van and the Camaro. It wasn’t long until Colin came out of the condominium complex looking nothing like his sister. A bright expression dawned on his face as if he effortlessly just moved a boulder with his pinky. He smiled as if everything in the world was perfect and peaceful.

“Okay,” Colin said, “I guess we’re good to go then.”

“Well, you sure did take awhile,” said Chase. A distinct tone of curiosity wrapped around his words.

“Oh, we just had to talk about a few things over there. We’re okay now.”

Chase nodded his head in an unpersuasive way, turned to glance at Bethany and her whithered appeal, and wiped the ends of his mouth. “. . . I bet”

A tan colored Toyota Camry arrived in front of them with Peter in the driver’s seat, the backseat filled from window to window. Colin was literally avoiding having to tell Bethany that she would be riding with Peter and not him. He didn’t know whether or not it would break her, shattering that last string of tolerance she had for all the changes that were happening.

“Beth,” Colin said as quiet and controlled as he could, “You’re riding with Peter. I have to ride with Jessica.”

Bethany looked up at Colin. Her burnt out green eyes emoted defeat. “Whatever,” she said, not in the mood to fight anymore.

Colin bounced his head up and down, smiling. “Good,” he said relieved. “I guess that’s settled.”

As Bethany walked passed Colin, he followed her with his eyes. She went around the front of the car and knocked on the passenger window. Peter looked up and unlocked the door for her. She opened it, crawled into her seat, and then slammed her door. She didn’t greet Peter or introduce herself. She just crossed her arms in a defensive manner, and sank her head forward.

Peter looked at her suspiciously, and then he turned to stare at Colin through the front windshield of the car. Colin responded by shrugging his shoulders in an indulgent manner.

Colin turned around to see Jessica leaning on the side of the Camaro she just hot wired. Her eyes wandered in quiet. Colin wondered if he should say something.

“We just had a lot to talk about,” Colin said, trying to clear the air.

Jessica exaggerated a grin and then shook her head, “It’s none of my business,” she replied. “Let’s go!”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

The inside of Peter’s car smelled of pine air fresheners and strawberries. He kept two of each on the dashboard. Also on the dashboard was a small metal stick figure with a tan colored grass skirt. If they pressed on it, it would do a quick hula dance. Other than the large military sacks in the back, the inside of the Camry was excessively clean. No spots, no left over food crumbs, no smell of oil, mold, or any thing anyone would find in any car that had gotten old and rotten over time.

It was almost noon, the sun must’ve almost been lifted into it’s peak in the sky. Chase led both cars, Jessica and Colin in the middle, Peter and Bethany in the behind. Peter kept his eyes in front of him, from time to time he would spare a glance back at Bethany, but she continued to stay the sam; her arms crossed, her face unbelievable still, but her eyes zoned out as if her soul floated off in some fantasy dream land.

“Are you hungry?” Peter asked.
“No,” Bethany replied monotonously.
“Well, when I get cranky I usually get hungry.”

Nothing. Not even a small flinch from Bethany. Even with Peter trying to harmlessly get a rouse out of her, spark anything to get her to show some sign of life, she still would not move. She continued to sit in a statuesque manner. Her eyes slightly stuck below the glove compartment.

“Well, when it gets really quiet I get nervous, and when I’m nervous I have fat person issues, and I just feel the need to eat something.” He reached over to the glove compartment in front of Bethany. She sank back into her seat slightly moving her legs closer to each other.

Peter stopped with his hand in midair as he noticed the small insignificant movement in Bethany’s legs. He exhaled and continued to reach over to the glove compartment. He clicked it open, and let the glove compartment fall out carelessly. Bethany moved her legs and adjusted herself to the side. Peter caught his laughter in his mouth.

The glove compartment was filled with packets of dry fruit and jerky. Bethany saw the labels on the several plastic packets, but looked away stubbornly. She stared out at the window watching the road as they entered a freeway. Under the freeway she could see the lower level road that crossed below them. Several cars were left abandoned all over the freeway. A large trucker ran perpendicular to the road, closing off several lanes from being able to move forward. It looked as if everyone just ran out of their cars and disappeared.

Bethany could hear Peter chewing loudly as he exaggerated the movements in his mouth. She knew he was exaggerating by the way he opened up his jaw widely and bit down on his food. He also clicked his gums, he grinded his teeth, and made obscure sounds with his tongue. She didn’t know whether or not he was just being a moron, or just trying that hard to get her to talk. Peter turned to face her, catching her as she stared at his open mouth.

“I bet your hungry now,” he said, wiping the front of his teeth with his tongue in an impolite manner and swallowing uneasily.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well then,” Peter placed the packet of jerky on top of the dashboard in front of Bethany, “I’m just going to leave this here, and whenever you feel like telling me your lifestory, you could grab it.”

Bethany stared at the way Peter smiled, as if nothing bad could ever happen to them. It reminded her of Michael. The way his mouth curved slightly on the left side, the wrinkles that bent under his eyes when he pushed his cheeks up. Then the stiff cold texture of the bathroom where she stood in front of Michael crept over her body. She could feel Michael’s face peacefully floating under water with the torn expression leaving him lifeless.

“How about it?” Peter said, silently waking her up from her reverie with almost nurturing eyes.

Bethany could feel the perpetual tension of fear and sadness reaching into her. She could feel the emptiness in her stomach and the fragility of her bones. She stared back at Peter, his open grin and inviting facial expression.

“. . . I just really don’t want to talk right now.”

Peter froze for second. His breaths quietly traveled through his broken pursed lips. He shook his head and looked away from her. She could hear him exhale as he readjusted his seat.

Again, the tense silence unraveled.


#5 Zidia: Sorry Your Call is on Hold

Colin set foot on the bathroom tiles.  He breathed in the air which started to smell a lot like expired raw meat which had sat in a freezer for a year.  Bethany was sitting next to the pool of blood in the bathtub.  He stared at her as she stared into Michael’s face immersed underwater.  She sat on the lid of the toilet.  Her back was utterly straight.  Her posture was a lot like her.  She was always firm, unwavering, focused.  Colin remembered how she would never back down in an argument.  She would push and push and move forward passionately, because in some obscure perfect light, Bethany was always right.  She was always the moral temple that towered over all things when it came to family, when it came to Colin, when it came to everything.  She was the epitome of a big sister.  Colin never saw her this way.  All those days when Colin looked up to his big sister for guidance just seemed to float off in some way.  For the first time in Colin’s life, she really didn’t know what to do.

“Beth?” Colin’s voice softly bounced off the porcelain tiles on the walls and floor.  “Beth we need to leave. . .”

No answer.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about Michael.  We all loved Michael.  He was great-” Colin stopped as he caught himself not helping.  He heard Bethany sniffle quietly.  Her body shook weakly.

“Those people outside, they’re good people.  They know a lot more about what’s happening than we do.  They know how to survive.  They’ll protect us.  They have weapons, they know people, and we’re going somewhere safe.  You have to trust them, Beth.”

No answer.

Colin stared quietly at his sister’s shoulders; they shook up every few seconds.  Colin could still hear Bethany sniffling.  She made quick tiny breaths when she exhaled.  In some unpractical manner, her back never moved.  Her spine was just stationary.  Colin listened to the obvious tense build up in her breathing.

“I’m not going to leave you here.  If you think you’re going to sit here alone and wait until those crazy things find you and kill you, you’re wrong!  I’ll sit here.  I’ll starve here!  I’m going to let our one chance to keep on living drive out of the driveway and off into that street and leave us here.  Do you want that?” Colin waited.

No answer.

Colin continued to stare at the petrified image of his sister turned away from him, but then he started wondering how long everyone else was going to wait for them.  He should’ve been back with Bethany by now.  They should’ve been on the road by now.  Colin leaned on the marble counter of the sink, gripping the edge with both of his hands.  He felt a slight ringing of emotions in his throat.  He wondered if this was it; if his sister finally gave up.  He thought maybe he should leave her.  Maybe she really wanted to wait out the hours watching Michael’s face until something killed her; the infected, hunger, maybe even her own emotions.

“I’m not going to leave you.  You’re my sister-”

“You think I didn’t know?” Bethany’s voice ripped the unseasoned air with the sharp tones in her voice.  “You really think I didn’t know. . .”

For a minute Colin couldn’t understand what she was saying.  What did she not know?  Bethany turned around.  She stood up facing Michael, the tears on her face fell off her cheeks and continued to sink back into her neck.  Her face was red.  Her skin was red.  The sad frustrated signs of failure that cracked into her eyes shattering every single thing she ever believed, was red.

“You really think this whole time we were driving around, I didn’t know about Michael.  The random puking, the vomiting.  How he was heavily wrapped in blankets half the time.  How he never slept.  You really think in the event that a disease that turned every single person into murderous monsters, that I would really be worried about some God damn food poisoning!”

Colin froze, his eyes sinking deeply into the back of his face.

“You don’t think that every night when we slept in that car, that I was wide awake.  That I was praying, ‘please don’t take Michael!  Please!  You really think I didn’t realize what the hell was happening!  My boyfriend was dying Colin!  Dying!  You know why we didn’t stop at a hospital?  You know why we didn’t try to break into a pharmacy?  Because I KNEW!  I knew it was over, I knew it was over Colin.  And I can’t take it anymore!”

Bethany slumped to her knees.  She hung her head down as a stream of burning liquid fell onto the bathroom tiles from her eyes.

“You want me to go out there Colin?  You want me to act like this is some sort of adventure.  Finally!  We don’t have to go to college, huh Colin?  This is all fun for you!  Never knowing what you want, living the unpredictable.  Riding the God damn wave of life!  I knew what I wanted!  I planned out my whole life!  How am I supposed to live like this?  What’s out there for me?  Why would anyone want to live like this?”

Colin walked over to Bethany as she continued to sob.  A line of drool climbed down from her mouth.  Colin knelt next to her and held her head in between his arms.  She dug into Colin’s shoulder and yelled.  Her tears started breaking into Colin’s shirt.  She just couldn’t hold it anymore.  All the things that she bottled up were never going to make sense anymore.

“. .  . I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, “what am I supposed to do?”