Originally published at kelliowen.com. Please leave any comments there.

I am in the process of moving the website from kellidunlap.com — if you should find yourself here while this note remains, please return there as that is the currently active site. Thank you.

~The Management

Because it’s a fun twist…

Here’s the cover. Details to come, I promise. In the meantime, let’s pretend I’m not off by a day and say it’s Thursday. And let’s just accept that I’m obviously sitting in the garage. And therefore, let’s make it Garage Talk!

So how about YOU tell ME what the story is about… given that title and that cover, what would you put in the pages? What do you think may be hiding in the pages? (and those of you that know, shhh!) How’s that for a twist? Now come on… be creative, think like me for a few seconds, and tell me what YOU would do with THAT cover.

Happy Thursday Friday!

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

York Emporium
343 West Market Street
York, PA 17401
(Directions)

Weekend plans? Come see this year’s author-centric Horrible Saturday at the York Emporium—a day filled with fun people and panels, located in one of the greatest used bookstores to ever exist. Wander the shelves, listen to the presentations, catch a quick flick, meet the authors & get your items signed…and end the day with some bone-chilling screams.

Schedule

10:30  Book Launch: Murder and Mayhem in York County with author Joe Cress

11:30  Weird Pennsylvania author Matt Lake.  Q&A, followed by book signing.

1:00  Panel discussion with authors Brian Keene, J.F. Gonzalez, Kelli Owen, Bob Ford and Mary SanGiovanni.  Q&A followed by signings.

2:30  Improvisational Horror: Brian Keene, JF Gonzalez, Kelli Owen, Bob Ford and Mary SanGiovanni, create a horror story on-the-spot from a set of props provided.

4:00 Screaming Contest, with braggin’ rights to the title “Best Screamer in York County.” (Note: my daughter won last year and is determined to keep her title, so bring your best screams)

I will be dragging along several goodies, including Dark Faith (and the Last Rites chapbook), Waiting Out Winter, Fresh Blood, several of both Shroud #6 and Shroud’s 2010 Halloween Issue. As well as copies of Bob’s dual-chap Free Ride Angie/Bluebottle Summer. Come see us… and learn all kinds of chewy gossip about what’s coming up, and enjoy a day full of fun!

For more information see the Facebook Event Page. Let us know you’re coming and catch up on the latest discussions!

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

They always say “start with a joke.” So here’s a funny little zombie apocalypse poster for you to check out, giggle at, nod in agreement, and hey, maybe order. Enjoy.

Now that that’s done. The Walking Dead on AMC was a beautiful television adaptation of the comics. Horror not only found a happy little slot on Sunday night, but it was extremely popular with fans and non-fans, of all ages. It’s been green-lighted for a second season and the pre-season buzz has begun anew with behind the scenes and other such specials popping up. And it’s the reason for this post.

You see, there was a scene near the end. A scene that followed me out to the porch for a smoke break and became quite the discussion (sans green couch). A discussion that has been revisited several times since then. Let’s do a little role playing first, to set the mood.

It’s the zombie apocalypse, following your basic zombie guidelines:

1. If you die, you return as a zombie.
2. If you are bitten by or sprayed with the blood of the infected, you become a zombie.
3. The only way to stop a zombie permanently is to destroy the brain.

It’s that last one that will come into play later.

So, for those that didn’t watch the show, let’s put you in the situation. You have survived so far. For argument sake, we’ll pretend you have a spouse and one child. You have stumbled upon a group of survivors. The group is mostly strangers, there are couples and quartets that were together, but the bulk of the group didn’t know each other before the apocalypse.

One day, while you’re enjoying a moment of not crying, running or screaming, all hell breaks loose and there’s a zombie raid on your happy little camp. You family member gets bitten. (If which family member makes a difference down farther, please state that.)

They are dead.

End of story.

You can’t stop it, but you can watch it. You can hold their hand and wait for them to die and come back and then kill them. Or you can kill them now and skip watching them die twice. Your call really. But the scene that got me. The question for this week (oh, hey, that’s right… it’s Garage Talk time!) is this:

If you chose to let them die and come back… if your loved one was a zombie… would you kill them yourself, stubbornly stating that you wanted to take care of it? Or would you gladly hand the ax over to a stranger and let them do it?

This started quite the conversation and I’m interested to see if it’s a gender thing.

I love the hell out of my family, and zombie or not, I just don’t think I could let my last memory be ME smashing their brains out of their skull. I’d gladly let a stranger, or a friend if they volunteered, do it. The boys on the porch though… they all seemed quite adamant that no one else would do it. It would be their responsibility and they would handle it as such. Me? Yeah, if someone else volunteers, they can have it. I loved this person pre-zombie. If I don’t have to do it, I won’t. The boys? They insist they’d do it to make sure it was done right.

So? What would you do? Could you cut the head off your girlfriend/boyfriend/spouse? Your sibling? You child? Zombie or not, you’re going to have to look at their face while aiming. You’re going to see their eyes… *shudder* Me? No way. How about you?

Now don’t give me a gut reaction answer. Really think about this. Stop. Turn away from the screen. Look at or think of your loved ones. Think of the good things and happy times and sparkle in their eye… Now then, would you want to kill them yourself? Or would you willingly let someone else do the deed?

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

A child is a curly dimpled lunatic.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Next week, maudlin. Today, whimsy.

Since the inception of the friendship that came years before the lecture, the Hippie and I have texted each other bizarre things from time to time. Lyrics. Crazy headlines. Insane observations. Pictures of things in the world that are just wrong or stupid or silly.

We have only gotten weirder with time.

While cleaning up some files this weekend, I found this and remembered it fondly. And because all the kids loved it, and the adults giggled, I figured I’d lighten your Monday with a smile, while reaffirming why I should never write children’s stories.

These are texts I sent to Hippie’s phone one day in the middle of tax season. It was either this or lose my mind and beat up clients. This was the better option… (line break = new text)

once upon a time there was a little dragonfly…

he flew around and around and around all day long, making loops and popping fairy bubbles. he was very lonely…

then one day, a charming princess came in looking for a frog to kiss.

the dragonfly acted as her tour guide, telling her where all the princes lived and sharing his life story with her in the process…

after she kissed the last frog and got nothing but a bad taste in her mouth, wart on her lip and a broken heart, the princess sat down on a toadstool and began to cry…

the dragonfly felt so bad for her that he landed on her cheek while he whispered to her to be happy.

his wings absorbed all her tears… and that is why dragonfly wings shimmer…

they are full of princess tears and broken hearts…

and then the frog ate him!!!

*burp* And there’s your random silly moment for the day. Now try and enjoy Monday and all the foibles it brings as it drags you into the work week…

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
~ Aristotle

It’s Thursday. I have coffee. There are now three green couches in the garage. You know where this is going…

I have read some amazing books in the last few years—horror, thriller, non-genre and even non-fiction. But today, the important one on that list is horror.

I remember the last time I needed to stop and make The Tomo Face™. I remember the last time I requested brain bleach. I remember the last time I had to take a shower to cleanse my soul of the eww-factor—mid-novel and afterward. I remember the last time I cringed. I remember the last time I looked up and said “ewww” aloud. I even remember the last time I paused to call/write the author and type out “ewww!”

But I don’t remember the last time I wanted to leave the lights on.

I don’t remember the last time the words jumped off the page and into my brain, making me check back seats and sit facing windows and hide under the covers.

Now don’t you dare tell me I’m jaded. I’m sooooooo not. I still shake and cry in haunted house attractions—yes, I just admitted that. So why can’t I remember the last good scare?

A hectic life and writing schedule caused me to become a major slacker on the blog. Life is calmer (surprise party done, holidays done, graduation done) but the writing is going to stay insane for the rest of this year (and hopefully life), and I will try not to use it as an excuse. Now, back to that first paragraph. It’s Thursday. There’s a garage. And to celebrate the rebirth of garage talk, I’m not going to offer a thought provoking question. I’m just going to make a simple request…

Suggest a book that will scare me. And I mean scare. I want to sleep with the lights on. I want to check the backseat. I want to sit facing the windows out of fear. New, old, it doesn’t matter… hell, I’ll even reread something if you think it’ll scare me. Now grab your coffee and try to remember the last time you slept with the lights on… what were you reading?

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

A book is like a garden carried in the pocket.
~Chinese Proverb

The short version: Looking for serious reviewers for upcoming releases of novella, novel and collection – backlist available upon request.

The long version: Looking for serious reviewers. Review must be static rather than revolving, so that it can be referenced later or linked to without going dead in a month. Review copies will be in electronic format (pdf, epub, mobi, etc.). Quotes may be pulled from review for use on this website or my affiliate social networking sites, as well as online sellers offering that or other works of mine. Backlist items are available upon request, as many/most of them will be re-released and reviews will be viable at that point.

For further information or to volunteer your soul to the task, simply respond in the comments section. Make sure to include a valid email (so I may contact you), a valid website showing where the review will be posted (so I may stalk you), and your shoe size… cuz I always expect to hear that when people request information—you know, dob, height, weight, habits, employment…shoe size!

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

We cannot destroy kindred:
our chains stretch a little sometimes,
but they never break.
~Marquise de Sévigné

Hi, I’m Kelli. A touch of background for those new to the show. I was born Kellie Anne a couple hundred moons ago. At twelve I was allowed to legally change my name due to adoption by mom’s new husband—the man I would come to call Dad and mean it. New name: Kellianne Elizabeth. But you can just call me Kelli.

The man that was there when I was born walked away. Oh he tried for a few years. And he tried again a few years after that. He called on my birthday some times, but too late for me to be awake let alone on the phone. He attempted some communication once I graduated high school, if by attempt you mean once a year. He met my oldest and knew my youngest was on the way. And then he walked away again, forever.

During all of that time, I fell in love with my Dad and learned an important distinction along the way: Father is only blood, Dad is earned. My dad earned every ounce of my respect and love, and honestly, shock, as we put him through hell in the beginning. But he survived and became Dad. And if something ever happened to him, I’d be devastated.

That other guy? We referred to him as the sperm donor if he ever came up. Which was rare. My sister and I have actually forgotten we’re adopted on occasion and given the wrong biological information to doctors, teachers, whomever. Ooops. Though we did stay in touch with his sister and her family. And I thrive on the gypsy blood he gave me…

Which brings us to this weekend.

I was doing a bit of research online, searching beyond what I already had. I did find some really fun things—distant cousins that were doing the same, old pictures, new names to add to the tree, etc.

And an obituary.

From a year and a half ago, for a man I didn’t know, barely remembered, and hadn’t called “dad” since I was seven.

I stared at it a while. There was no denying what was in front of me. I had met his new wife and kids—I knew their names—and there they all were. My aunt was listed as a survivor. My grandparents names were right there as preceding him in death. His date and place of birth… Oh, it was him. With no mention of me or my sister. And none of us had been notified—me, mom, his sister, no one.

When Bob asked what was wrong—as I can only imagine the stunned look on my face—he followed up my answer by asking if I was okay. And how did I feel about it.

I didn’t know.

I called my mom and she started to question, “but you’re you and do that thing, shouldn’t you have known?” but answered her own question with “I suppose, there was no connection so why would you?” I called my sister, left voicemail and emailed her the obit. We’ve contacted my aunt to let her know. My children know—one reacting like me, the other asking “Who?” And along the entire way, I kept hearing “How do you feel about that?”

I don’t know.

At first I thought I should be sad and was upset that I wasn’t. Then I thought I was upset that he hadn’t tried harder to even keep in touch, to meet or know or even have pictures of his grandchildren. And just as I rolled around to the edge of “it is what it is”, I realized something.

He died long ago.

His importance to me had been reduced to a name on the family tree and medical knowledge that could become important later. His impact in my life had been reduced to the fact that I know my bad knees come from “that side of the family”, which sadly, isn’t even specifically him but rather the family as a bloodline, as a whole.

I can’t say he’ll be missed. He was missed for years, while I gave him chance after chance. I stopped missing him sometime before puberty. I can’t really say anything about him, because I didn’t know him as a person, only a character in stories I’ve been told over the years. But I have stories of family much farther back with characters that are more fully fleshed out. He was a stranger to me. A stranger that gave me bad knees and gypsy blood. I guess for at least part of that I owe him a thank you… not that he’ll hear it.

How do I feel about it? Empty. I got nothing. Which is weird and bizarre and a little unsettling. But the thing I do know, the thing that strikes me the most about this, doesn’t even have to do with me. It’s all those other fathers (or mothers) out there that have walked away or shut out their family. It’s all the other little girls (and boys) left behind to forget, forgive, heal and move on.

It’s a shame it happens. It’s a shame it will continue to happen. And it breaks my heart, not for me but for others, that will someday be faced with the truth that one of their birth parents is really no more than dry ink on a branch of the family tree.

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a true blog. Not one of those “look at me” or “buy my books” style marketing posts, but a true blog—like Frank the turtle, Mamihlapinatapais, and other posts that most likely got you here in the first place. Apologies for my tardiness…

I’ve learned many lessons from my mother. An impossibly countless amount really. Some were for the moment. Others for the long run, the day to day, or the things she knew would eventually come to pass. One surpassed all. And it was never actually taught so much as explained with a smile and a twinkle in her eye when I asked her what she was doing one day.

“Making a memory.”

When you lose things or people, you will always have the memories. Wise woman.

I have gone on adventures, stopped to talk to bugs, and closed my eyes to listen to the sound of time standing still by the light of the full moon. I have memories alone, with other adults, or with the kids. My 12-year-old self loves whimsey and silly and spur of the moment memory making.  My “you only get to do this once” gypsy side plans things in great detail to make memories for others. I have told the kids and several friends the wisdom of “make a memory,” and in turn been told when they do.

Last weekend, I made a memory. Several people did, whether for their own vaults or as a cast member in someone else’s. Oddly enough, the memories I made did not involve me directly, but rather a cataloging of those around me.

Not only did I get to watch in fascination as eyes softened and memories were chiseled into that permanent space between first love and last good-byes, I saw old memories swim up, bubble innocently along the surface and then break into smiles and twinkling eyes and laughter.

I watched the old become renewed, relived by Four.

I watched the new play gleefully alongside the old.

I watched them all mingle and hug and laugh… and warm the soul of a hippie just by being there.

I watched generations of friends, family and loved ones, that affected or were affected by one solitary human, as they embraced him—his yesterdays and tomorrows. I smiled as old memories glistened in his watery eyes. I made mental notes as his hearty laughter created new memories. And I thank each and every person (and one dinosaur puppet) that came to celebrate the amazing soul living inside my best friend. They came from different times in his life, had different names for him, different memories of him, but they will all live side-by-side in his memory of the big 4-0. Thank you all. For allowing me to watch you all make memories, and for being part of a memory that will last a lifetime.

It’s Friday… now go make yourselves a memory this weekend!

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.

Just a quick addendum to the buzz swarming around Waiting Out Winter…

iBooks has finally caught up. Waiting Out Winter is now available as an epub through the iBooks Store. If you have an ipod/iphone, you can use this link directly from your device to load the page and grab the novella.

Of course, for the Kindle users out there, we still have amazon.

And for anyone that reads digitally but doesn’t use either of those readers, you can convert them to whatever format you need using Calibre.

Happy Thursday!

Originally published at kellidunlap.com. Please leave any comments there.