Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Guest Blogger - Karina Fabian - Back to Basics


Today's guest is Karina Fabian. She has chosen to stop here in her blog tour and share with us her views on getting back to basics. Please welcome her to the blog.

Sparkly vampires. Werewolves, that just want to fit in. Zombies that are the growing minority group in America. My co-author Colleen Drippe lamented over the fact that monsters aren't monsters anymore. So she and I decided to go back to the basics and write a vampire story where the vampire really was a bloodsucking fiend and not an emo love interest or seductive creature just trying to survive.

The result was Frightliner, a novella in Frightliner: and Other Tales of the Undead. We had a lot of fun with it. Colleen took us back to the old scary movies with the first scene in which Reba leaves her deadbeat boyfriend, runs out of gas and ends up prey to a vampire who drives the highway seeking victims. Her opening took me someplace I'd never written about before, and it was great fun to keep that horror movie atmosphere as our hero first discovers he's the next slated victim, tries to run, and finally has to confront a horror he's not even sure he believes in.

Going back to the basics of vampire mythos was fun, too, as we found new ways to incorporate the traditional weaponry of holy objects and faith. Both, Colleen and I, are Catholic, so we especially enjoyed writing the showdown in the old church.

People are always looking for a new twist, but when you don't have a good idea, try going back to the basics. You might find amble room for a new idea.
Karina Fabian writes fantasy and science fiction, with the occasional foray into the world of horror. Her first novel, Magic, Mensa and Mayhem, the 2010 INDIE Award for best fantasy. Her latest book, the comedic horror, Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator, was a top ten in the Preditor and Editor reader’s polls and winner of the Global E-Book Award for best horror. Learn more about her works at http://fabianspace.com.


Excerpt:
Of course that was why he had not come out to check on her, she thought with a surge of relief. He probably thought it was an abandoned car. But now--she stepped out onto the gravel, hearing for the first time how loud the crickets sang. She smelled the strong scent of the cooling air. Too early for snow. Too warm, still anyway, though she cursed herself for not thinking to put on jeans before making her big exit. She peered at the cab, but nothing moved.

“Hello!” she called, moving closer. She could not make out a logo on the truck. It was dark, dark paint. She had an impression that the shape was--not wrong exactly, but not usual. It was an older model, she decided. An old truck.

She had reached the door.

“Anyone there?” she called, hesitating to step up and look inside. What if something had happened to the driver? What if he were dead? What if she opened the door and a body spilled out onto the road?
But that was silly. He had just pulled up. Probably he was rummaging around in his berth for some tools.

But what if he was dead? What if she took hold of the door and--and what if he was right there, watching her?

She had almost decided to go back to her own car. But the thought of the semi parked behind her, silently cutting its chunk from the sky, was in some strange way even more frightening than opening the door. She reached up for the handle and pulled herself up level with the window.

The handle turned in her hand.

It was then she knew she had done the wrong thing. If only someone else had come--she prayed for someone else. A cop. Even a car full of good old boys. Anyone.

The crickets fairly screamed their shrill and mindless song, the scent of the Russian knapweed was overpowering. But it wasn’t strong enough to hide another smell, a dark earthy smell. A smell of death mellowed by long usage.

The door opened.

Reba froze, clutching the handle, balancing there with the driver’s seat in front of her. She tried to speak, to call, but nothing would come out. She hung there, thinking of death, while the night passed and the stars moved and the moon looked in over her shoulder. Finally, she climbed into the truck.

“Daniel,” she whimpered. She was ready to forgive the new pickup, but it was too late. Something moved in the back and she turned in the driver’s seat and saw a pale face, caught in the moonlight, eyes gleaming. She had an impression of lank hair, grizzled beard. And then two hands reached up to take her shoulders and she saw the mouth open.

To purchase your copy from Amazon - http://amzn.to/lJDL9b

To follow the rest of Karina's blog tour -
14-Oct http://rosalieskinner.blogspot.com/
15-Oct www.fabianspace.com
16-Oct www.snoringscholar.com
17-Oct http://jaletaclegg.blogspot.com
29-Oct http://timothycward.com/

Disclaimer - I have not read any of Karina's work other than the excerpt above, therefore this is not an endorsement.

5 comments:

Karina Fabian said...

Thanks for hosting me today, Cher!

Theresa A. Henderson said...

Ohhhhhh, I am so glad I wear a wooden crucifix that I am always grabbing hold of when a situation calls for it!

Cher Green said...

Karina, You are very welcome.

Theresa, :) Thanks for stopping by.

Aubrie said...

I love the title, very cool!

Cher Green said...

Thanks for stopping by Aubrie. I agree on the title.

 
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