How would you survive The Walking Dead?

I’m writing this post as compensation for not being able to see the latest series of The Walking Dead. Hopefully I’ll be able to download it soon, but in the meantime my boyfriend have become a bit obsessed with a zombie apocalypse. We aren’t stock piling food yet, but there have been discussions about what we would stockpile and the importance of making sure one of us has a can opener in their back pack.

And we have been visiting castles.


Let’s see them get a tank across that moat.

There’s loads of castles in the UK and all with moats, walls, parapets and murder holes. They also come with enough land to keep you own vegetable patch. There’s no zombies getting in if you don’t want them to. So while the kids were running round with their wooden swords playing at knights, the boyfriend and I were outlining complex defence strategies including the  flooding of moats and building a trebuchet for flinging zombie heads.

It’s a refreshing flight from the day to day hamster wheel of life. Just think, a zombie apocalypse means no work, no mortgage and freedom from things like thinking about when you have time to get your hair cut (I’d take a knife to my own overly thick, frizzy locks in an instant), or do the weekly shop. Surviving a zombie apocalypse means you’d have nothing but time to do the weekly shop, what with being reduced to hunter/gatherer/scavenger status. And I will, of course, survive.

Murder holes

I’m concerned that I find the idea of a zombie apocalypse so liberating. Ignoring the constant threat of death my own zombie apocalypse is a fantasy of freedom and redefining myself.

When the Governor comes along though there may be more of a problem, what with castles under siege never faring well when the food and fresh water runs out. We didn’t go as far as drawing lots to see which one of us would resort to cannibalism first, but it did give me some food for thought.

I live in Kent and my family is north of the river so the only way I could get to them would be over the Queen Elizabeth Bridge. That stretch of the M25 looks like there has been a zombie apocalypse every afternoon at rush hour. Seriously, I’d never see them again.

Perhaps if I want the freedom to redefine myself I shouldn’t wait for a zombie apocalypse. Perhaps I should get my head out of dream world and start now. First thing I need to do is find time to get my hair cut.

What about you? How would you survive a zombie apocalypse? Would you rather take the one ring to Mordor than commute to work? Let me know below (no spoilers please.)


Sharing a Guilty Pleasure

Today I have a confession to make.  My name is Deborah, and I read Regency Romances. Of all the folders on my Kindle the Regency Romance on is the biggest – it’s even entitled ‘oh dear’ as of all the romance genre I consider the Regency Romance to have the most fairy tale like quality due to the empire lines, tight breeches and a love that can even defy society, or Society in this case.

Still with over 40 books in my ‘oh dear’ folder the evidence suggests that I have gone well beyond the call of research for my own MS. So, ok, I enjoy reading them. Alright, I love reading them; I just don’t take paperbacks on the train. Some of those covers are far more provocative than the book’s actual content.

That’s why I cherish my Kindle. Behind that slick black exterior no one knows my reading habits.

That was until a recent journey. Without the visual clue of how far the book still had to go I finished sooner than expected, touched the screen only to be revealed with a promotion of the next book in the series.  Needless to say it was the cover of the next books in the series and it showed a stunning array of flesh.  I quickly put the screen saver on, thus banishing the treacherous image from sight.  Then I looked up, only to discover that the rather attractive young man in the seat next to me had been reading over my shoulder.

The height of rudeness! However being too embarrassed to show my displeasure I actually blushed.  Should women in there 30s blush? Or is that an activity reserved purely for the  debutante? In my confusion I actually changed seats at the next station – no small challenge in the midst of rush hour.

The way I see it, this is something that I have to accept about myself. Constantly checking for sneaky train readers is not practical and results in neck ache.  Either that or I just have to make myself read something less racy when in public.

Has anyone else got any else felt like they’ve committed a reading faux pas? Or what do you read as an indulgence?

The Name Game

Since creating this blog the euphoria of actually still managing to make regular posts (yes, all three of them!) has worn off.  As the cold morning light dawns I’m looking around and feeling pretty much like another lost little writer waiting to drift to the bottom of other blogs that are much better than mine. 

At the moment one of the first things I’ve been noticing about other blogs is whether the author uses their name or not. I first started posting online at Fictionpress where everyone has a creative pen name that encapsulates how they want you to see them. That made it more fun, and safer, because no one knew who I really was. 

It felt a bit like being at an online masked ball.

Not here. Here there are people posting who are actually in print and it feels like when you’ve made it, that’s when you start calling yourself by your birth name, or at least one that sounds like a name a person could have realistically been born with.

I could bore you with a lot of stuff justifying why I came up with the name for this blog, but I think it ultimately came down to the fact that who is going to know who Debbie Osborne is anyway? Although I feel more comfortable now using my name online, I think that given my still relatively anoymous status, I’m happy to still pretend I’m at the ball.Image