Rachel Bostwick

Before I finished my first novel, Apocalypse Rising, I wrote a post apocalyptic novel that I called Alone. When I first started writing the story it was all about a single survivor. I shared his perspective on the world as it was after the collapse of civilization and how the collapse occurred.
The days, months and years that followed took up a large portion of the book. I enjoyed playing through the scenarios that would lead to the end of the world and then showing what the aftermath would look like. As the story continued I wrote more and more about the character’s present life and a different story started to take shape. Soon it became less about the world and more about the people that survived within it.

Once I was finished writing the first draft and started the editing process I realized the two did not quite fit together. I thought that maybe I could take the first part of the book and move it to the middle as some sort of flashback the main character could share with the few people he meets along the way, but the more I think about it the more I think that it might be better to break it up into two separate books so that each can be the focus of what is important in each of them.

Why split them up? Why not make the make one part a smaller part of the main story rather than abandon the connection altogether? Well I’ll tell you why.

Apocalypse and Aftermath

There are a few books I have read that spent time dealing with the lead in to the apocalypse, the time during, and the time immediately after everything goes bad. Some excellent examples are Stephen King’s The Stand, Lucifer’s Hammer by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, and The Grey Matter by Billie Sue Mosiman. In all three we see what leads up to the apocalypse and the author guides us through the events that take place during and after the end of the world. I really enjoy these books as much for the details of the collapse as the human story that follows. They satisfy me in ways that so many Hollywood movies fail to. Usually in Hollywood the movie is about diverting the apocalypse or the aftermath that follows, but rarely are both covered in adequate detail.

Think of Independence Day. Aliens come down and destroy all of the major population centers on the planet. The humans fight back and beat the enemy, but the movie fails to address what happens in the aftermath. Millions of tons of crashed alien spacecraft littler the planet and the population of the planet has been dramatically curtailed, so what happens afterward? And what about 2012? A massive planetary shift, depopulation of the planet and ecological devastation on an epic scale, and all we get to see is the ships full of people sailing off to Africa. Where is the follow up? What happens next? I suppose the same can be said of any Hollywood movie or novel for that matter. As the consumer we are left with questions of what next, assuming we care to ask the question.

The aftermath is every bit as exciting as the destruction itself, so I think it is important to show that rather than take it for granted. Human suffering is the perfect fodder for the novelist and I couldn’t help but try my hand at exploring the world as it fell apart.

 

Survival in a Time Beyond the Collapse

The other popular end of the apocalypse spectrum is the time when the death throes of civilization have subsided and the survivors must forge a new existence. Whether that existence is one of solitary survival or a return to civilization is the only real difference in the genre. Some classic examples of this are David Brin’s The Postman and The Road by Cormac McCarthy. The struggle for survival and to forge a new world with those that survived is a classic theme that has countless movies dedicated to them. There is nothing wrong with these stories, in fact I think they are fantastic, but to do them by themselves leaves the genre short. I feel cheated by the lack of detail regarding what happened to the world itself. The setting is important to these stories, but it is treated like a secondary concern. In the movie version of The Road we are never really told what caused the apocalypse, only that it happened.

These true post-apocalyptic stories focus on the story of the individual with a backdrop of a world that exists after everything else has failed. The interpersonal relationships are what matter most and drive the story beyond the events that take place in the world around them.

I want to tell a story that covers both the time before and the time after, but in a way that is personal and drives the reader to wonder about the possibilities. Can they imagine themselves in the middle of the collapsing world and consider whether or not they could survive it all? If they managed to make it, would they be the lone survivor cast adrift or the community member striving for a better tomorrow. By breaking it into two books the writer can share the collapse in a way that is personal and tell the story of survival that is easy to relate to.

So what do you think? Is all in one the way to go, or does it make more sense to break it all apart?

GIVEAWAY

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1. Thou shalt not post a polarizing article unless it is important enough to lose friends over. A few things are, but choose carefully.

2. Thou shalt not read the comments on a polarizing article. Ever. Trolls are real and their hateful comments will ruin your day.

3. Thou shalt not let games steal all your time. Play one or two that build your friendships, then mercilessly block the rest.

4. Remember to hide haters from your feed. Gossip and scandal are contagious and they will kill your joy.

5. Thou shalt block those who hurt you on purpose. Life is too short.

6. Honor your family and others you love in spite of value differences by using list-based privacy to share sensitive things only with those who will enjoy and appreciate them.

7. Thou shalt use your words to make someone feel loved today.

8. Enlighten others gently and with love.

9. If you can do it sincerely and with love, cultivate friends you disagree with. This is how humans grow in understanding.

10. Thou shalt learn something awesome every day. Be filled with wonder. All the world’s knowledge is laid out for you. Take a bite.

I had a bad dream last night.

It was such a casual dream at first. We were milling around a sort of hardware store that was on its last legs. Holes in the ground everywhere. One with a slit that was so dark you could almost see stars in it, like it were torn into the fabric of the universe. Basements half-dug and then given up on, full of old, rusty junk. Men were standing around as if they were waiting for the someone or something to die so they could collect what was left of an estate.

Our car, it was parked by a deep red barn. The ground around it was eroding, but it was time to go. So I began the simple, daily act of loading up the children.
But there were deep holes around the car. The ground was falling away. If we could get to the car we’d be fine, and I wasn’t scared yet, but I knew I should be soon, and then Julius got too enthusiastic. Leapt past me into the car.

He didn’t make it. And the starry abyss was right next to us.

Time frozen. He smiled at me, as sad little smile to say, sorry, mom. Guess I messed up.

My heart tore out of my body.

As soon as his face disappeared, I looked around but only for a second before I leapt into the hole, too. Either I would catch him or I’d die with him. Either way.

The first part of the hole was dark brown. I saw him and could almost grasp him. My heart was still screaming. But just as I reached for him, a spring carried him away from me, far deeper into the hole. I followed again.

This time the deeper hole was light. White and green striped marble, roughly textured but wet, a very close tunnel but fully light. I grabbed him again but he went deeper still. I followed him into a deeper tunnel.

There no good way for this to end, my brain said. WAKE UP NOW.

I woke up. So suddenly it hurt, like ripping a scab away without being careful about it.

I lay in bed shaking. Trying to run through the scenarios. The tunnels had been getting narrower. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to go farther. But maybe he’d be able to go farther than I. ARGH.

Or maybe I’d catch him but they wouldn’t be able to help us and we’d die of starvation together. DOUBLE ARGH.

Or maybe, and this one kept coming back, they’d send down a rope, but we’d have gone so far and it was so wet, how would we ever be able to scale back up?

God, it must sound so stupid from outside. I hid under my covers shaking and crying and finally left the room, climb into Julius’s bed and wrapped my arms around him. Kissed his head. Cried, but better, because he was in my arms and we’d be able to eat soon.

Husband came and called me back to bed. Scolded me, reminded me that I am a thirty-three year old woman who knows that nightmares are not real. That didn’t help. I cried some more. And I swore that I’d never, ever write about this. Because I would like to forget that little sad smile he gave me.

But this has been bothering me all day.

Why did my dream have foreshadowing? That gaping hole, visible in the first act?

Why the textures? The deep red barn, the white and green speckled tunnels? The stars in the dark? The cold of the water on the stone?

And why do dreams add layers of emotion? We know they do it independently of the stories, because sometimes dreams feel sad without seeming that they should be.The rush of grief and pain that flooded over me when my precious son fell into that imaginary hole, that was unnecessary.

Human brains are strange.

Or maybe dreams are really there for something. To warn us, or maybe just to remind us that things are sacred and that we are not immortal.