I’m running a little late this week. That’s been the story of my life lately while I work to bring my post apocalyptic series to an end. Without further adieu let’s get into this.
One of the most common questions a writer hears is, “Where do you get your ideas?”
Being the typical smart ass that I am, I sometimes reply they come from the idea tree.
But the real answer, when authors are willing to admit it, is simple, yet elusive. Ideas emerge from some of the most unexpected places. Maybe a fleeting moment, a snippet of conversation, or even a dream. For some, inspiration is rooted in personal experience or observation. Mark Twain famously based Huckleberry Finn on a childhood friend, proving that real life often provides the richest material for fiction.
Other writers find their muse in the world around them. News stories, historical events, or even graffiti can spark that “what if?” moment that leads to a compelling narrative. Many authors, like Stephen King and Neil Gaiman, describe their ideas as arriving unbidden. Sometimes half-remembered, sometimes fully formed, yet always demanding attention.
In his book On Writing, Stephen King spoke of ideas using the cup and the handle metaphor. How some ideas do not arrive fully formed and ready to go. But they get catalogued anyway until the idea that represents the handle or the cup arrives to complete the set.
But the secret isn’t just in having ideas. It’s in recognizing their potential. Writers train themselves to notice the unusual, the poignant, or the extraordinary in everyday life. They jot down stray thoughts, nurture them, and let them grow into stories. Sometimes, inspiration comes from other art forms, travel, or even the simple act of people-watching.
For me personally I watch strangers. I work part time at Wally World, and I’ve wasted a few moments building narratives in my mind for the lives of the shoppers around me. Simple little tales that at times uncover a deeper narrative that refuses to be set aside. Like a hidden treasure trove of ideas that emerge from a simple act.
Every writer’s process is unique. The magic comes with being open to inspiration while being brave enough to follow these ideas to where they ultimately lead. Turning ordinary moments into extraordinary tales.
Even if he could, he realized with a cold chill, if he revealed who he really was, he’d simply vanish, dead at the bottom of an unmarked grave, if they even went to that extent. Disposing of a dead body on a working farm was a simple matter. Farms were a deadly place to the uninitiated, and even lifelong farm hands had been known to lose fingers to thrashing steel.
He was on his own. He couldn’t rely on those around him. He had to escape, but how? How did a naked man flee from a corporate farm in the middle of nowhere? With no clothes, no tools, nothing, or no one to help.
Gus, the name popped into his mind, and he turned it over in his thoughts as if he were rolling it around on his tongue to ensure it fit.
Is that my name?
As he tested the name, he noticed one of the farmhands watching him intently. Beneath the straw hat he saw the familiar outline of a large jaw outlining the bloodless line of a narrow strip of lips.
Brodie, he knew him, and a memory blossomed in his mind. Brodie used to come into the co-op all the time. He’d buy a couple of bags of shelled corn and go on his way with nary a word. But there were some subtle differences between this Brodie and the one he remembered. The most obvious being the difference between in are. This Brodie appeared much younger than the one he recalled. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s a relative of the Brodie I knew.
Their eyes locked, recognition sparking between them. Brodie was the first to look away and Gus suddenly realized just how precarious his predicament had become. They knew him. They knew he was here. Which meant he’d never leave this place alive.
“Move em along boys, let’s get em fed and dressed before we bed em down for the night.”
They were moved to an adjoining room, forced into single file with short whips their handlers took joy in using. Here they were each given a burlap poncho and instructed in how to put it on. Standing a few inches taller than the rest, his hair much darker than the sandy color of those around him, it wasn’t long before he drew unwanted attention.
“What do we have here? A mutant? The man who was in charge said as he approached Gus. He was several inches shorter, his flesh the color of tanned leather, compliments of a lifetime spent farming. He looked up at Gus with hard eyes that sparkled in the shadow cast by the brim of his hat.
“You’re not going to give me a hard time? Are you boy?”
Gus shook his head trying his best to mimic the slack expression of the others around him. He must have succeeded as the boss held his gaze for a moment before nodding and stepping back.
After receiving their poncho that served to cover their naked flesh, but not much else, they were herded into the next room where tables waited. Here they were fed a watery gray gruel with a gritty texture. There was little taste and as Gus gazed down at his bowl, he saw his neighbor try to take it. He placed his hand on his neighbor’s arm, stopping him.
With a shriek his neighbor jumped to his feet, slapping him around his head and shoulders. All Gus could do was cover up as the blows fell and several of the farm hands made their way through the crowd to intercede. After his attacker had been pulled away a rough hand yanked on the collar of his poncho, pulling it tight against his throat and forcing him to lean back in his seat.
As I’ve found it difficult to find participants for my weekly Fridays 5, I’ve decided to interview the characters from the books I’ve written. This is my first time trying this so bear with me.
This week I give you Jimmy, an eleven year old who helped with the survivors at the Willowbrook Apartments where he lived with his mom. If you want to learn more about Jimmy and what he went through scroll down to the bottom of the page to get a copy of Zomething Dead This Way Comes. It’s free, well all I ask for is an email address in exchange for this full length novel I’m sure you will enjoy.
Let us begin
Jimmy is eleven and carries himself with the air of someone who knows they are right. Yet he seems hesitant to accept who he is. He and his mother moved to Willowbrook Apartments several months prior to the events that unfold in Zomething Dead This Way Comes. As he enters the room he crosses to the chair and settles into his seat, glancing around with unrestrained curiosity. Outwardly he appears alert and responsive, yet slightly withdrawn.
RS: What brought you and your mother to Willowbrook?
The question immediately puts him on guard, and he wipes at his eyes to hide the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
J: My Dad died in a fire. (Here he falters as he lowers his head and struggles to bring himself under control. When he looks up it’s obvious he’s very proud of his dad.) He was a section chief for the Richmond Fire Department and became trapped in a warehouse, but he saved his crew before the building collapsed. So, he’s a hero. Mom couldn’t afford to keep up with all the bills, he didn’t have enough life insurance to cover the house, so she let the house in Reeds Landing go, and we moved here.
RS: Do you miss your dad?
J: Of course, but he always taught me that these things happen. That we only have a little control over our future. I believe in a way he was preparing me for what might happen.
RS: When you say control, what do you mean?
J: You know, such as the money you make, your life choices. Who you end up with and if you’re happy. That’s under your control. Like my Dad. If your choice puts you in danger, there’s a bigger chance of getting killed than if you worked in an office all day. Your chance is never zero because things happen. But working in a place where you go into burning buildings all the time, narrows that chance.
RS: What was your childhood like?
J: I’d say better than most, but not as good as some. There were rules I had to follow, chores I had to do, but I didn’t mind. I had to keep my grades up too. My dad always said if you want something you have to work for it, and if you must work, do the best you can no matter what the job is.
RS: Do you have any dreams?
J: I think we all have dreams, no matter what your life might be like, it can always be better. Right now, my dream is to find a safe place to sleep. Somewhere I can let my guard down and be a kid again, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.
RS: What scares you?
J: Before the awakening I was always afraid of losing my family, of becoming an orphan. I knew a kid in school whose parents were killed in a car accident. Before it happened, he was always happy, listened to the teachers and did his homework. After it happened, he became a different person.
He stopped listening and seemed to be hiding inside himself. He was only in school for a couple of weeks after they died. One day he never showed up. Later we learned he had been placed in foster care. After my dad died I was so afraid something was going to happen to my mom, and I’d have to go to foster care too.
Now you have to be careful with anyone you meet. You won’t know until the last moment if they’re friendly or willing to cut your throat to take what you have. I’m sure there are still good people out there, but you can’t assume everyone is going to be nice.
RS: What would you say is your biggest weakness?
J: What do you mean?
RS: Like what is something you find hard to do?
J: Hurt people, unless they deserve it. I trust people too much. I’d like to believe there are more nice people out there, but I know I’m wrong.
RS: If you could have anything in the world, what would you want?
J: My parents!
This concludes Jimmy’s interview, if you ‘d like to learn more about Jimmy and what happened, signup for my readers group and grab a copy of Zomething Dead This Way Comes below.
Synopsis: Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.
They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robert’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.
Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.
“Don’t leave any marks boys.” Someone said, obviously a boss as the farmhands guiding the group into the shed clipped their cattle prods to their belts and began shoving the stragglers with gloved hands.
The entire group, which he estimated at between twenty-five and thirty strong, all male, and all completely naked, were lined up along the back wall of the barn.
“Clean the shit off em,” someone yelled, most likely the same one who had warned against damaging them with the cattle prods. Three fire hoses were turned on the group, the water came out hard, fast, and ice cold. Stinging his flesh, getting under his eyelids, and invading both his nose and mouth. Still the majority of those in the group made little noise aside from a few grunts of displeasure.
As they were pummeled by the water one of the men fell to the ground and covered his head with his hands. Those on the hoses focused all three streams on that unfortunate soul, driving him against the wall as he tried to protect his face with his hands. The force of the water drove his hands away from his face, forcing open his mouth as he was held in place.
“Goddammit what are you trying to do?.” One of the hands yelled as he waded into the three men manning the hoses and began beating at them with his fists. The water was turned off but it was too late for the man who had been pinned against the wall. Without the water pressure to hold him up he fell to the floor where he remained, motionless.
“You’re paying for that one boy. I’m taking the cost outta your next pay.” The farmhand in charge shouted.
Gus pushed his way through the crowded bodies around him, intending to go to the injured party to see if there was anything he could do to help. As he did, he began to notice something he’d seen before but had so far managed to keep from consciously acknowledging.
They were all the same.
Every last one of them was an identical duplicate of the next. Each one of them had short sandy hair, wide spaced eyes, a pug nose and a thin mouth. Beyond the facial similarities they were each the exact same height and he was willing to bet if he had a scale available they would each weigh nearly the same, no more than a few ounces different.
How? He wondered before the answer filled his mind chilling him to the bone.
It was how they were keeping the costs down. Everyone had assumed they were shipping in illegals they’d kidnapped from the slums of Mexico. Feeding and clothing them, but not much else.
But they said cloning a human was impossible, no they’d said it was immoral, and laws had been enacted to punish anyone who tried. But it hadn’t stopped the corporations that owned the farms.
Surely once he explained the mix up he’d be released, he didn’t look like them obviously, and he was confident they had noticed the difference. His finger strayed to the stitches in the side of his neck.
They’d cut his vocal cords so he couldn’t speak.
To be continued!
Join The Adventure.
Sign up for my reader’s group and every month you will receive either a short story available nowhere else, or a chapter from a work in progress. For signing up you will also receive my apocalyptic dark fantasy: Zomething Dead This Way Comes. A 95,000 word novel written for my subscribers and only available via my readers group.
Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.
They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robret’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.
Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.
My apologies. I realized as I was setting up this post that I failed to inform anyone on my last post that I would be taking a short break until the new year. I’m sorry.
For countless writers, the act of putting words on the page is more than a creative pursuit. It’s a leap of faith. Each story, poem, or article carries a piece of the writer’s soul. Crafted with hope it will resonate with readers. Yet, for many, the harsh reality is that their work goes unnoticed. Lost in a vast sea of content. When sales are slow or nonexistent, writers come face to face with a deep sense of invisibility.
This feeling isn’t just about financial disappointment. It’s about validation. Writers pour hours, sometimes years, into their projects, all while dreaming of connecting with an audience. When those dreams don’t materialize, they can feel as though their voice doesn’t matter. That silence can be deafening to a writer. The lack of reviews and feedback coupled with no sales, can be deafening.
Social media and self-publishing platforms have made it easier than ever to share work, but they’ve also intensified competition. Algorithms favor the already popular, and marketing budgets often determine visibility more than talent. As a result, many skilled writers find themselves on the margins, wondering if anyone will ever discover their words.
The emotional toll is real. Writers may question their abilities, their stories, and even their worth. Some withdraw, shelving manuscripts and abandoning projects. Others persist, driven by passion or the hope that one day, their work will find its audience.
But invisibility doesn’t mean failure. Many celebrated authors faced years of rejection and obscurity before breaking through. The key is resilience. Continuing to write, to submit, to share, even when it feels like you’re shouting into the void. Community can help, too. Connecting with other writers, sharing experiences, and supporting one another can help ease the loneliness.
Ultimately, every writer’s journey is unique, and while the sting of invisibility is sharp, it’s not the end of the story. With perseverance and faith in their craft, writers can transform silence into opportunity, and invisibility into impact.
The club Thrillrror Book Box sale has been extended until the end of this month. Check it out there’s a lot of works to choose from and each book is autographed by the author.
Richard Schiver 