I have to admit that when I first read the description for this story and saw the words “zombie plague” I was leary of reading it. I’m not a fan of zombies. However, I gave it chance because of the dystopian/science fiction elements that appeared to be in the story as well.

I was not disappointed. While I can get sucked into a story and thoroughly enjoy the read – and want to read it again and again – it is rare that a book makes me cry – big fat tears. Yes. A zombie story made me cry like a baby.

My attention was immediately snatched from the first page and the story didn’t let go until the end. The reader is immediately immersed into this dystopian world of government lies, conspiracies, and fear. The suspense rolled over me page after page and I couldn’t wait to see what would happen to the Freerunners next – the group of young people who fought against the oppression of the High Council and the Overlanders.

With the animal-like Posessors and the somewhat brain dead Less Thans, the fight for the Freerunners hits them on all sides – above and below. The Overlanders are watching their every move, and the Posessors are simply trying to eat them.

I honestly would recommend this book to anyone – not just dytopian or science fiction or zombie fans. This book is simply amazing and I have no complaints or negative thoughts about it. I was blown away and like I said before, I cried big tears at the end because of the horrors and determination of the characters to win. Very powerful and emotional ending.

The ending seems to be set up perfectly for a sequel and I do hope there is one. I will read the story just because Mr. Cain wrote it, and just because it’s a Freerunners story. Mr. Cain made me fall in love with a zombie story and I want more!

Tiger Song- Facebook

I looked up at the black sky and exhaled slowly. The darkness squeezed in around me like a vice. My breath was barely above a whisper, but to me, it sounded like an echoing roar. I was aware of every noise I made. It felt as if the wind blowing through the hair on my arms was making a perceptible sound. I tried desperately to remain motionless.

Mirra, don’t make a sound. Just stand still. They’re out there.

The cold concrete against my back soothed me and I imagined the peace I would feel if somehow, melting into it was possible. I remained flat against it, willing myself, in vain, to become the wall. Around me the moaning was heart-wrenching. Howls from the undead carried through the night air as they hunted for their next meal.

Something cold and moist rubbed against my knee. My skirt torn, my bare flesh exposed, I was certain my body heat would trigger a reaction. Nothing.

It was so dark it became painful. The thick haze above my head blocked out the reflected light of the moon, there were no stars. I was blind.

An odd warmth slid down my cheek. I fought the impulse to wipe my face. Motionless, I had to remain motionless. It slowly approached my mouth. I began to raise my hand when I heard a terrible crash. My arm froze in mid-motion, piercing the black night. Wailing echoed in the darkness. I could smell the rancid stench. I heard the tearing of flesh and bone. One of the undead had found a meal.

The warm sensation touched my lip. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it could be heard for miles around. I swayed on knees that felt weak and hollow. Tremors ripped through me from my hips to my toes. I tried to blow away whatever it was. The panic caused terrible cottonmouth. My lips were dried and cracked. At the instant I opened my mouth I tasted it. Blood. The scent would be picked up by the zombies. I was as good as dead.

I began to lower my arm back against the wall when a sharp agonizing pain penetrated deep into my forearm, to the bone. My scream seared the night air as I tore away from the claws clutching my arm. I began to run. The absolute darkness gave me a terrible feeling of vertigo, like I was running on a tilting, slippery floor. My body listed from side to side causing me to continually crash into the wall I once thought of as my safe haven, my camouflage. The arm that had been torn to shreds hung uselessly at my side. Behind me I heard footfalls, first two or three, then dozens. I couldn’t stop screaming as I ran.

In the distance I thought I saw a faint light, then two very small green lights.  They were getting closer to me moving faster than I was running. A powerful force knocked me down. My head hit the wall and I crumpled to the filthy ground. I heard a snap and a pale green light illuminated the area around me. A large dark figure stood between me and a group of zombies. He spun his head around but all I could make out were goggles covering his eyes. Tiny green dots illuminated the smoky glass in the brass fixtures. Beyond him, nothing but the monsters’ reflective eyes could be seen clearly. Years of living while dead had turned their bodies into vile carrion. The dark form rose to its full height and towered over the creatures. His arms spread and it appeared that many smaller shapes emerged from his long coat. With power like I have never witnessed, the zombies were thrown about like rag dolls. Then the many smaller shapes sunk back into the large one’s shadow. Another smaller shape came tic-tacking off the wall above me, crashing down on one of the zombies, turning its head into a puddle of muck. The large form leapt into the air and hurdled an object, using his legs as battering rams against the monsters. Two were obliterated upon impact. Some of the undead ran toward the smaller of the two. They were left grasping at air as the figure eluded them with ease, jumping up to a post and underbarring over, and behind them. Upon landing, he swung his leg around and knocked the zombies down. The larger form attacked those that fell. The two moved as one, fluidly and effortlessly, like a choreographed dance.

My head ached. I tried to sit up along the wall but couldn’t move. The green glow was beginning to fade, but still the figures continued to destroy the zombies. A powerful blow sent a zombie sprawling toward me. Its head was a few feet from my face. I tried to move, to scream, but couldn’t. I was paralyzed with terror. The menacing face was staring back at me. The green light began to flicker. I saw the zombie’s face twitch. If it was still alive, or the perverted image of what is considered alive in this world, I would have only seconds left of my short life. The monster had only to move a few inches to bite me. Another flicker of light revealed focus in the zombie’s eyes. It was looking directly at me. It appeared to smile, jagged yellow teeth behind rotted lips. Still paralyzed, I pressed my eyes closed to try to shake the look of the monster out of my mind. When I reopened my eyes I was looking directly into my own face, zombified. It stared back at me and smiled. I inhaled deeply to attempt one final death knell, when a hammer came crashing down on the zombie’s head. Wet remnants splashed all over me.

I woke up screaming, my bedclothes soaked through and through with sweat. My sheets clutched in my white-knuckled fists, I slowly sat up and looked around my room.

More nightmares.

The room spun. Lightheaded I raced to the bathroom. I was going to vomit it always followed the nightmares. No matter what I did the nightmares would not cease to haunt me. Lately, they were happening more and more.

Mirra Mantle knows there is something better in the world than what she sees. She and her twin brother, Burrow, battle to survive in a harsh dystopian existence. Like many teens they deal with the everyday pressures of school and work, a widowed parent, and relationships.

In their lives, however, work is forced hard labor, education is painful indoctrination, their father is a sacrificial addict, and their mother may have been murdered. There is also a little problem with a zombie plague that has destroyed most of their world.

The Mantles are part of the Freerunners, a group of eclectic, like-minded young adults. On the streets brimming with horror, the Freerunners yearn for a normal life and fight to protect themselves from the vicious undead and a totalitarian government. Skilled at parkour and the use of archaic weapons the Freerunners prepare to make their stand. Mirra is madly in love with the leader of the Freerunners, Poe. Their relationship struggles to bloom in this barren world.

Where will they run?

FREERUNNERS will be available Thanksgiving Day, November 24, 2011. Don’t miss it!

We need “work-outs” as writers. I am a firm believer in the brain being a muscle that needs to be exercised, daily when possible. That probably comes from my grandmother who died at 94-year-old sharp as a tack, insisting it was daily crosswords and word finds that kept her mind sharp. Either way, I’ve taken that 100 word challenge many times since then. Waiting in a lobby, I randomly open a magazine and point to a word, then try to come up with a story. Sitting in traffic I take “the next word” I see and try to create a story. When I can, I write it down immediately, when I can’t I keep it percolating in my brain, but always mindful that I only have 1 hour.

That little work-out helps with keeping the creative juices flowing, and to be honest, with my cripplingly-fun ADHD it helps keep my mind focused on….wait, was that a bunny …I mean, keeps my mind focused on writing ideas.

Just wanted to share my little tool with you and I hope you have fun with it. Below you will find the story I wrote during that first challenge. It wasn’t like Lord Byron and Mary Shelley sitting around challenging each other, but it was still productive and fun. Enjoy.

The Laugh of a Stranger

New night, new town. The surroundings are familiar, the people aren’t. I’ve gone through my methodical preparation; my aching fingers created the illusion upon my weary face. Tonight is the anniversary of when you were taken from me. The wounds still bleed fresh in my heart, yet the show must go on. The strangers want their spirits lifted and their burdens eased, but who eases mine? The curtains draw back. The calliope plays. The children see me first, then everyone else. “Look at the funny clown!” they laugh. Behind my painted smile… sorrow. Laugh for me strangers, laugh for me.

Graviora Manent,

Joseph Chandler Cain

“My brain is the key that sets my mind free.”

                                                                        -Harry Houdini

Music soothes the savage beast. My beast in particular is that nasty hairy fiend also known as Writer’s Block. You see, Mr. Block and I became acquainted when I decided to become a writer. It went something like this:

Mr. Random: “Mr. Block this is Mr. Newbie Writer.”

Me: “Nice to meet you, Mr. Block.”

Mr. Block: “You’re mine.” (in his ever-present growl)

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Well to counter that, I met my muse, her name is Music. (with all do respect to my amazing wife, who is the true inspiration for everything I do) You see, Mr. Block really wasn’t the bully or beast he thought he was. He was just emboldened by his “posse”. The membership in that motley crew included: Mr. Job, Mr. Second-Job, Mr. Occasional Third-Job, Mrs. Family with five kids in tow, Mr. Bill Paying, and the triplets Eat, Sleep, and Breathe. This was just a classic case of mob mentality run amok. Ms. Music took a blunt instrument to them all (I did protect Mrs. Family) and caused severe havoc and inflicted swift justice with extreme prejudice. Since I have become acquainted with Ms. Music, Mr. Block has vaporized. The coward!

So here is my truncated playlist, just because I had fun doing this little exercise. The themes I am writing about are what dictate the music. If I am flowing with a great action sequence I play xyz. If I feel some scene stealing visuals coming I play abc, etc…It’s really fluid and with digital music at our fingertips, quite easy. Or maybe that’s just my ADHD making a cameo appearance? Try it yourself and post what music, if any, you listen to when writing.

Before I dive into the writing:

Meatloaf

New Order

Depeche Mode

Misc. DOCTOR WHO theme songs

When the Man Comes Around by Johnny Cash

While writing description-heavy scenes:

E.S. Posthumus

AbneyPark

Oakenfold

While writing action or fight sequences:

Skrillex/Dubstep

Hans Zimmer

Joe Satriani

Other background music:

Bond

Metallica

Wagner

Nuttin’ But Stringz

Muse

“Just Because” Music:

Ray Charles

Dean Martin

Bruce Springsteen

When I’m feeling down:

Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra (I challenge you to listen to that and not feel more chipper)

I have others but those are my “tried and true”. Some of them even play directly into my stories in subtle ways (I’m looking at you Meatloaf, E.S. Posthumus, and AbneyPark).

So now I have my new Dystopian-Steampunk-Horror-Romance YA novel FREERUNNERS coming out in a few weeks. I have short stories flowing like blood from a freshly nicked artery, and more stuff on the way. I’m having the time of my life and still getting things done in the measly 24 hours provided in a day.

For those of you that have Mr. Writer’s Block darkening the entrance of your writing cave, I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Music. Mind her weapon-wielding, Writer’s Block- destroying lunges and you should be fine.

Graviora Manent,

Joseph Chandler Cain

-Edgar Allan Poe

The Premature Burial

I would even touch the third rail of zombidom by saying this could be the first pseudo-zombie movie made as well. Yes, White Zombie (1932) is widely considered the first zombie movie, but the underpinnings of the genre are found in Caligari.

From the opening title card, a crude looking wacky-font piece of work, through the rich stark contrasts and surreal scenery, to the end credits this movie is really a mind trip if there ever was one. The zombie conceptualization is seen within the story, the caveat being the monster (for lack of a better term) is not really dead. It is mindless, lumbering, and frightening, but not dead. I won’t get into a plot synopsis or spoilers, but this movie has as creative and twisted an ending as The Sixth Sense, or any number of Hitchcock movies. Did I mention this was made in 1920!

With the calendar changing to October the constant flow of “greatest horror movies” and “scariest movie” lists will abound. But my recommendation to you is to find this movie wherever you can. If you love terror, style, expressionist style, surrealism, and a hint of film noir, and you appreciate films, turn out the lights and watch. In my opinion it will stay with you long after the tinny soundtrack has bounced its final echoes in your room…and for all the right reasons.

Enjoy the descent into madness…hope you make it back.

Graviora Manent,

JCC

- King Lear, William Shakespeare

I had an interesting and eye-opening text exchange with my 12-year-old daughter last weekend. I laughed heartily at what she wrote, but it got me thinking about how reading can open up a child’s mind to its limitless potential.

We have never shied away from challenging our children to read, and allowing them the freedom to push their limits. The Classics are not dust collectors in our house. On our shelves, and accessible to our children are oft read books like The Time Machine, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Little Women, The Count of Monte Cristo, Tarzan of the Apes, The Complete Works of Poe, the list goes on and on. My 12-year-old had just finished wrestling with Hamlet. For two or three days she devoured the book. We would answer questions when she had them, but she also took initiative in finding a Shakespeare translation type of book and worked things out for herself. Would it stick? That was anyone’s guess. Abraham Lincoln’s two books “of reference” that he read and gleaned the most from were The Complete Works of Shakespeare and The Bible, and look at the heights of grandeur his words achieved.

The scene: I am arriving to pick her up from a school dance. There is a long line of cars, I can see her but she can’t see me, and the line isn’t moving. I let her know I am there in line and to look for me. She did not have a book in hand. This came right from her, on the spot.

So here is the text exchange, verbatim:

Me- Be patient…

Her- Aha! Neither a borrower nor a lender be, but true to yourself remain. Tis madness indeed…oh woe is me, methinks the front of the line doth not a pleasant place to be, indeed it be a raving torture from the bloodsucking knaves, the vile mosquitoes, fain I kill one, two rise in its place like the hydra the mighty Hercules did slay…

Me- I turneth into the schooling place now

Her- Aye, tis good, my eyes doth droop of their own accord, and my legs do tremble with accursed fatigue…

So there it is, Shakespeare stuck.

That exchange got my mind rolling. Why do some feel the need to dumb down literacy for children? Why do we need to water down Classics that have stood the test of time? We do not have to, not at all. Let the children wrestle with words that blow their minds. Like a muscle building exercise, let them do some heavy lifting. We, as parents, mentors, teachers, etc… can be their spotters, helping them if they struggle, easing the weight when they are “maxing out”, but let them work that muscle out!

In the critiques of my upcoming Young Adult Steampunk Horror novel FREERUNNERS, it has been suggested that my vocabulary would possibly go above the heads of the young adults I am targeting. I say thank you, and phooey. How do we know how high their minds can go? If we do not try, how do we know the levels their minds can reach?

Here’s an example from my novel, FREERUNNERS:

The wailing was maddening. Their guttural sounds slinked up through the night to where I stood. Even though I knew I was out of their wretched clutches, I felt no safety. The stench of the Possessors spread like a swarm of biting flies. It reached up onerously to invade my nostrils. Foul.

I could have said:

The zombies were screaming and they smelled horrible. I knew I was safe, but was still scared.

Another Example:

We arrived at an old storefront. In the windows I saw etched images of travel cases, umbrellas, hats, and other items. The storefront was dilapidated like the others on this street. Poe stood before the double doors and lowered his goggles. His top hat sat cockeyed on his head and I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. He wrenched away a piece of bent metal, revealing one hole in each door. Poe quickly removed his brass forearm protectors and handed them to me. He placed one hand into each hole. I heard faint clicking sounds as he moved his hands in the darkness. The tense muscles and bulging veins in his forearms revealed how strenuously he was working. Click.

I could have said:

We got to the store. Poe was sweating as he played with a lock on the doors and opened them.

Less verbose? Yes. But where is the literary challenge? Will it turn off some potential readers? Maybe. But maybe it will plant seeds in the fertile ground of young minds…their imagination. I will make it or break it writing passionately and truthfully from my heart.

I don’t expect ALL children to acclimate to reading levels equally, but watering down the reading materials to meet the lowest common denominator does not great minds create. Just my random musings.

Graviora Manent!

J.C.C.

I had just taken to reading.  I had just discovered the art of leaving my body to sit impassive in a crumpled up attitude in a chair or sofa, while I wandered over the hills and far away in novel company and new scenes…  My world began to expand very rapidly… the reading habit had got me securely.

                                                                                                                                -H.G. Wells