Carv's Thinky Blog I'm an author with a focus on satirical science fiction.

Novel by Local Writer Debuts

Reprinted by permission of The Norman Dispatch
Published August 18, 20--
By Judy Sumner

SUGAR ROSES - Local author Zachary Heath is proud to announce the release of his debut novel, "Commedia dell'Heartland." Dr. Heath is a tenured professor of theater at Southern Oklahoma State University. The novel will be published and distributed by CreateSpace, a division of Amazon devoted to the on-demand printing of works by new and otherwise unpublished authors. Commedia dell'arte was a form of satirical, improvisational theater native to sixteenth-century Italy but influential throughout Europe.

Dr. Heath was born in Sugar Roses and earned his bachelor in communication (theater emphasis) from SOSU. He also carries a master of arts in playwriting from Southern Illinois University - Carbondale and a doctorate in education from Oklahoma University. His play "Ding Dang Doo" received an Oklahoma Theater Association Award in 2002, and a poem, "Villanelle for Alyssa," was featured in New Letters for spring 2004. His story "Buyer’s Remorse" has been selected for publication in Southern Humanities Review.

"Ever since I wrote my first play, 'Hillbilly Hoedown,' back in the late nineties," Heath explains, "I've focused most of my writing on small towns in Oklahoma. You know, it's hard for a kid with a more artistic, curious nature to grow up here. Conformity is king in the Bible Belt. At least, it was when I came of age. You weren't supposed to ask a lot of questions, just smile at the neighbors and pray for their sins."

Heath's views and writing have been known to attract controversy. "I did a production of 'Boston Marriage' here a few years ago that led to some hurt feelings." That play, by Chicago playwright David Mamet, is about a pair of women presumed to be a lesbian couple. "Then I asked to direct a play I wrote called 'Polymorphously Baptist,' and I was pretty much laughed out of the room," Heath admits.

"Commedia dell'Heartland" is the story of a young man growing up in the fictional town of Canaan, Oklahoma. His father, fiery Pastor Ezekiel Jennings Herod, wages a tragicomic battle against the encroachment of demon rum, Catholic bingo, and Playboy magazine. "I'm looking forward to watching this thing go off like a mushroom cloud in Sugar Roses," Heath laughed. "I think it's going to be a big hit."

The novel is available for pre-order on Amazon.com, where it is currently ranked 402,318th in overall sales.

The Road to Damascus

Fellow Fear Nought author Neil Lynn Wise has been writing extensively about the inspirations for his novel, The Lost Warrior. I've read his book, and I can say with certainty that it just gets better and more absorbing as it goes along. (I also theorize the "Arch" on planet Kalnaroag was inspired by a Larry Niven classic. Am I right, Neil?) I decided now would be a good time to talk about my own inspirations for Lightfall.

I've always been a fan of "end of the world" sci-fi, starting with When Worlds Collide and continuing through Niven's Lucifer's Hammer and Footfall. (The phonetic similarity to Lightfall is a coincidence, but a happy one.) More recently, I was put off by Independence Day and Armageddon (far too glib about millions of fatalities) but entertained, at least, by The Day After Tomorrow and Knowing. The back of my head appears in Deep Impact, thanks to a year of Hollywood extra work. None of these, however, were my inspiration.

One scene in particular reminds some people of Stephen King's Cell, which I have read. I admit the similarity but was not thinking of that book when I wrote the "Tone scene" in Lightfall. To be honest, I think I'd just seen the "brown note" episode of Mythbusters at the time, and I was probably also inspired by the soccer hooligan zombies in 28 Days Later. But that's just one scene. Really, if I'm being totally honest, Lightfall was inspired by my nine years in Ada, Oklahoma, a town as loaded with contradictions as any I've ever known. What a wonderful playground for a book, am I right?

See, Ada is a deeply religious college town in south central Oklahoma. Most of its eighteen thousand residents either are or shamelessly claim to be Baptist or Church of Christ. Over a quarter of its residents have at least Bachelors degrees, but its median income hovers right around the poverty line. Only about one in sixteen are either Hispanic or African-American; three in four are white-bread white. It's a place where people wave as they pass each other on the (mostly barren) highways. If you're a townie, the most sketchy eccentricities are waved away with a "bless his heart," but if you're not--and I was not--you have much less, shall we say, "artistic license." It's a town where openly gay and lesbian college students roll their eyes at deeply closeted Baby Boomers. There are swingers and meth addicts and porn performers, many of whom are regular churchgoers. One of my friends worked in Christian radio while sporting a "Jesus fish" tattoo on her ankle. Another is a pastor who doesn't believe the Judeo-Christian characterization of God, but he preaches as if he does to meet the expectations and preferences of his elderly congregation. You can see why I'm disinclined to name names.

Soon after I moved there this last time, I ran afoul of some of Ada's more colorful personalities. I admit my share of blame here. I have a tendency to say what I'm thinking, and even if I don't, it's clear by my expression. I wrote a blog for what I thought was a limited number of out-of-state readers. Guess what? Turns out Ada has a fair share of Internet computers and copy machines! A few of my more outraged expostulations haunt me to this day.

I am, in fact, repentant. I should not have said the things I said; I lashed out at the innocent. Back then, though, I knew some of the outrage I felt about Ada was legitimate. Without delving too deeply into old news, I knew some of those screaming about me the loudest had no moral high ground from which to sermonize, yet they acted as if God Himself organized their campaign against me. Even when some of my most profoundly hypocritical opponents were exposed to the general public, there were those who backed the demon they knew over a brash California liberal agnostic with a big mouth. One woman asked a group of children to pray for my mortal soul while I was standing in the next room. My offense? I told one preteen girl I wasn't sure I believed in God, but she should believe whatever made her the happiest. The horror!

Okay, so it's water under the bridge. And it is, I swear. But when I told these stories to a friend, he said the following about a handful of Adans: "They're like children. If they knew how to kill, they would." Man, that's a great line! It's so good I've Googled it since then, but apparently my friend invented this observation on the spot. (I'd credit him by name, but--you guessed it--he still lives in Ada.) So back in 2006, even as I was still living there, I was formulating a vicious, retaliatory satire about Ada Christians and/or artists called They Knew How to Kill.

Ah, but how a few years can change a person's outlook. I've grown bemused about my difficulties in the Bible Belt. On my best days, one could even say "amused." After I moved to Washington state, I started thinking about why some people are the way they are, and what I might have to say about that once I recovered from pointless conflict. Instead of They Knew How to Kill, I wrote the erstwhile Salvation, a book about how Christianity and science might learn to coexist, how the best thing for Christianity in the twenty-first century would be to emulate what Christ actually said and did, and how some hypocrites live the way they live because exposing their true natures would cause...well...the end of their world. I didn't come to these epiphanies flying solo, of course. Bishop John Shelby Spong was a major influence, as were Ada Christians I credit by name in the book.

More than anything, though, I hope readers (including Oklahoma Christians) will focus less on axe-grinding and more on character and plot. I was in a very good place in my life when I put pen to paper, and I like the fact that Lightfall derives from what I'm tempted to call a spiritual place. A strange thing happens to a writer over the course of a novel: We start to empathize with our creations as if they were real people, even the villains. The worst guy in Lightfall comes from a place I understand. I've been to what Springsteen called "the darkness on the edge of town" many times. As any other town does, Ada has its dark edges, but I'm happy to report I found my own Salvation in the light.

Lightfall FAQ

Here, in no particular order, are some questions I’m asked when people hear of my impending book release:

What’s it called?
Lightfall. It used to be called Salvation, but the publisher pointed out quite rightly how far down the list Salvation would be in a Google search. I derived the new title from a Bruce Springsteen song called “Cautious Man.” Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to use the relevant lyrics in the text, so...feel free to Google "Cautious Man lyrics!"

When’s the book coming out?
Friday the 13th of November, which we only belatedly realized was also the release date of Roland Emmerich’s end-of-the-world F/X extravaganza 2012. Hey, free advertising!

Did you self-publish Lightfall?
No, Fear Nought is a traditional publisher, meaning it only publishes books it likes, after paying considerable upfront costs to have them printed and promoted. There are numerous advantages to this method, but I know how difficult it is for first-time writers to break through in the present market so I won’t judge any author for paying his or her own costs. I will say it’s almost impossible to turn a profit or find readers for a self-published book outside a limited community of friends and family, and it was thrilling to find someone besides myself and my mommy who believed in my literary talents.

How’d you get a publisher?
Actually, to be more precise, it got me, as I explained in my first blog entry.

What’s your novel about?
I quote my promotional copy: “Sugar Roses, Oklahoma, population eighteen thousand: a sleepy, conservative college town known—though not widely—for its Christian infotainment company, Saving Grace, and a misguided police prosecution. Nothing much ever happened here worth knowing about…until now. Sugar Roses is about to become a flashpoint for the prophesied End of the World. A cross section of America’s Bible Belt will face a series of unprecedented catastrophes. Are these events truly supernatural? Are they a presage of the foretold Apocalypse? And who will be moral and strong enough to survive? Only one thing is certain: The endgame has already begun." Ooh, that sounds exciting! "Lightfall is a satirical thrill ride, in which all humanity’s glories and vanities can be seen in one lyrical, hypocritical microcosm.”

Is there really a Sugar Roses, Oklahoma?
No, I placed my fictional town near what is known in real life as Pauls Valley, about an hour west of my old stomping grounds in Ada.

Are the characters based on real people?
No, although I suspect this will be met with some skepticism. I did look to situations I’ve observed in the past (especially acts of blatant hypocrisy) to help inspire plot developments. However, I wove all those real-life moments into new narratives, then devised my own characters to populate Sugar Roses. I did borrow one Oklahoman’s actual job description for no better reason than I couldn’t think of another I liked better. Ultimately, it’s most accurate to say I based all my characters’ traits, both positive and negative, on aspects of myself.

Is Lightfall a Christian book?
Not per se; it’s an adult novel (with adult language) that discusses themes closely related to modern Christian life.

Is it about the Rapture?
It’s about the foretold End of the World. How that happens…well, you’ll just have to read it to find out!

Are you working on another book?
I sure am. I promised myself years ago I’d write three books to talk about the biggest taboos in American conversation. Lightfall was my book about religion. The next has a one-word working title and will be all about sex. The rest will be revealed in due time.

Where can I buy my very own copy of Lightfall? It sounds awesome!
Why, thank you! What a sincere and completely unsolicited testimonial! If you live close to Fear Nought headquarters in Olympia, Washington, click here for Fear Nought's official list of local vendors. We and they sincerely hope you’ll send some business their way. Independent bookstores are struggling, of course, but we love them—we’re all readers! If you live outside of Oly and want to buy a copy (heck, why stop at one?) directly from Fear Nought, just click on the "Buy Now" button to your right. There's no shipping charges if you order before November 13, and all pre-orders will be signed, first edition copies. Neat! There will also be an audiobook version for download and on CD, plus an e-book version. (If you have a handheld book reader, you should email me right now. But sssshhhh...it's a secret!) Or, if you simply must go the long way ‘round, you'll also be able to buy my baby (or any of Fear Nought's other amazing books) on Amazon.com.

Thanks for reading, and more to come!

Right Place, Right Time

Two months ago, I'd never heard of Fear Nought Productions.  Only a handful of writers had, really.  So you can't fault me for not approaching them first.

I wrote my first novel, though I might be ever so slightly exaggerating the word count, when I was eighteen.  It was terrible, and a blatant Star Wars knockoff to boot, but that didn't stop me from sending it to one of the major sci-fi paperback publishers.  It was rejected, of course, as it richly deserved, and I received my first rejection slip plus my crappy little novel back.  One rejection was all it took.  I'm pretty sure I burned my true debut novel.  If I didn't, mere sentiment encouraged me to preserve it; certainly no one else did.  The year was 1986.

Three years later, bored and lonely in my freshman year at ECU, I started writing another sci-fi novel.  I don't even remember what that one was called.  I wrote sixty-five pages, realized they weren't good enough, and aborted the project.

I wrote a full-length novel, The Big House, when I graduated from Southern Illinois in 1997.  That completed novel was fairly decent, in my self-protective memory at least, so I began the arduous, sometimes expensive process of trying to locate an agent to represent it.  I came damn close.  It was finally rejected at the Manos and Associates conference room table, the very last step before acceptance.  I had a few bites from other agencies as well, but ultimately, I couldn't get it off the ground.  My then-girlfriend had it bound for me as a birthday present.  I put my disappointing baby in a drawer and haven't looked at her since.

When I moved back to Ada in 2004 I began a novel called Paranormal.  I'd already done a year of heavy research in L.A., but sure enough, I wrote sixty-five pages, realized they weren't good enough, and shelved the whole project.

My friend Sean Boyd talked me out of a funk by encouraging me to write again.  I resolved to attempt one simple goal:  I wanted to write a good book, the kind I'd be likely to buy myself if I saw it on a shelf at Barnes & Noble.  The result, which occupied the first four months or so of my time in Washington state--plus a full year of polishing and editing--was Salvation (now called something else).  Some of you were kind enough to read it and offer feedback, both positive and negative, during that year.  For over a year now I've been trying to get an agent for this book.  Out of thirty submissions, I had probably two or three serious nibbles and one extremely close call at Neil Gaiman's agent.  One could do a lot worse.  Unfortunately, that opportunity fell through the week before my fortieth birthday.  I was not exactly joyous as a result.

The search wore on.  I felt I'd accomplished what I first set out to do.  The book was good, perhaps even very good.  I was pleased with it and, as you may have noticed above, I'm not overkind to my own work.  But now my goal expanded.  I wanted my book to be published.  And not self-published, not cranked out by a vanity publisher; I wanted a real publisher to value it enough to put it out there.  I wanted a real publisher to pay the upfront costs, believe in it enough to package and market it, and send it out into the market.

I searched for over a year.  Nothing came of it, nothing at all.  I was on the verge of giving up.  Maybe someday, I thought.  Maybe someday I'll have enough money to self-publish, if I decide I even want to.  Or maybe this one will live in a drawer like The Big House, worthless to anyone but me and my immediate circle of friends.

There's a "Buddy" in my book, a mentally retarded character, and an "Amanda," too, an unwed mother.  So it's funny that only four months after I wrote it, I fell in love with an Amanda here in Olympia, and I also grew close to her brother, an easygoing but in no way retarded guy named Buddy.  As I was going through the process of trying to find a buyer for the novel, Buddy took a job as salesman for the Chamber of Commerce, and that's how he met the Beahans. The Beahans own Fear Nought as equal partners with Preston Porter, the killer graphic design artist who made this site and my book cover look as good as they do.  The company was started with the goal of producing a feature film; it's only within the last year that it added a publication wing.  Buddy discovered this and recommended me and my book, despite the fact that he's only read a few dozen pages.

Here's the way it usually works.  You write a book, rewrite the book, re-rewrite the book, edit the book, beg all your friends to read it, take it to writers' groups and ex-professors, and gradually collate all this feedback into a polished (i.e., marketable) draft.  You send out query letters to every agent you can think of, and then wait as rejection slips and maybe, just maybe, rejection letters accrue over months.  Sometimes you get only one.  Sometimes you get two or three.  Those are depressing days, of course, but not as bad as the days you come close.

Maybe finally an agent loves it.  Good news!  Or maybe not.  The agent takes your book into that week's company conference and tries to get the rest of the agency excited.  Usually the agent fails.  But if the agent succeeds, the agent sends you a contract, then it's off to the races--meaning the agent goes through the same grueling process you just did, except now she's trying to get publishers to bite.  If you're incredibly, almost cosmically lucky, one does, but then the publisher asks you to re-re-rewrite the book.  You might get an advance, you'll almost certainly have to change the title, and you might find yourself feeling like you're back at square one.  Assuming you can make the changes the publisher wants, your agent will finally see a profit when your book gets released up to three years in the future.

Except that's not...how it's working...for me.

I have no agent.  Why approach one now?  I'd get one, sure, but why give fifteen percent of my royalties to some Los Angeles agent who rejected me in the first place?  I deal directly with the trinity at Fear Nought, and the only change they requested was the title.  We had that settled in twenty-four hours.  I've already delivered a finished manuscript, less than a week after signing my contract.  We have a cover concept and marketing ideas, which is good, because the book will be out within months.  They want it out for Christmas book buying season, including the audiobook.  My royalty rate is industry standard, even for New York or L.A.  A "first-time" author could do a lot worse.

So this is the culmination of a twenty-three-year quest.  And y'know, I might be giving up way too much of my psychology here, but it's the thing I've wanted most in my life, because it's the thing my mom wanted most.  My mom is the sole reason I made it out of Crowder, Oklahoma in reasonably sane shape, and it's been her dream from the time I was a small child to see me become a published author.  She cried when I told her the news, just as she did when I came so close at the agencies.  I don't mean to say my mom hasn't been proud of me, but I haven't always been proud of myself.  I said on the Fourth of July that I've been a colossal letdown to everyone who ever believed in me, and the more I thought about my little joke, the more I realized how much I thought it was true.  But something changed in me this fall.  I don't believe it anymore.  I believe things are going to be okay.  Fear Nought's already asked me about my second book, and they seem to like the concept.  I'd tell you what it's called, but experience is teaching me that it probably won't be called that.

I told the Beahans my goal for the next five years was simple:  I want to make a living from my writing.  I don't expect to be Jo Rowling or Stephen King.  No sane writer expects that.  I might keep teaching, even if I don't have to.  But wouldn't it be something to shape my imagination on paper, earn a comfortable living in the process, and then have time and money to spend with Amanda?  It's a good dream, a small dream perhaps, but the biggest dream I ever saw fit to indulge in my life.  And finally, at age forty-one, that dream glows on the not-so-distant horizon.