So, I’m still at it. I’ve been slaving away at an attempt to create a piece of zombie horror fiction set in 16th century England, and I have to admit, I’m really liking it so far. It isn’t painful, like I thought it would be, and the prose is actually coming along nicely. I’m roughly 3,000 words in, and I’m shooting for the 8,000 to 9,000 word range. My last short story that I had completed (which was scifi, in case you were wondering, a genre I’m a bit more comfortable within) was approximately 2,000 words. I’ve been wanting to challenge myself into building the characters more and giving the story a touch more depth than I’m used to applying.

Want a sample? Here’s a short excerpt from the first section (it will eventually have five sections, I just today finished the second):

“Cardinal Wolsey?” Johnathan replied incredulously. “Thomas Wolsey? I thought he was Archbishop of York.”
“The House of York is no more,” William replied with a heavy sigh. “The War of the Roses saw to that.”
Johnathan leaned himself further over the railing. William chanced a sideways glance to appraise his companion. It was difficult to discern hardly any of the man’s qualities. He was of average height, apparently average build, garbed completely in black. His black hat covered his face in shadow. His black cloak concealed his personage. A black sheath at his hip spoke volumes of man’s mortality. If the plague didn’t kill man, then man’s own warring would do the work instead.
“King Henry changes the political landscape daily, it seems,” Johnathan mused.
“He is making adjustments necessary to meet the needs of a thriving kingdom,” William stated, as though reading from a manuscript.
“Thriving in the midst of an unholy taint that seeks to ravage our fair city,” Johnathan replied.
They were silent once more. Again, off in the distance, a splash echoed across the buildings lining the cold waters of the Thames. William shuddered loudly as a sudden chill cut into his lack of proper clothing.
“The plague is worsening, is it not?” Johnathan inquired.
“It is in some ways, yes, but not in others,” William replied uncertainly. He stepped closer towards the railing and looked up into the glowing moonlight above. Johnathan noted that the pale light cast unsightly shadows onto the Archbishop’s weathered face, giving him the appearance of more years than he had reason to suspect the man had earned. “London was devastated by the black death over a hundred and fifty years ago. Millions suffered and died at the hands of that unnatural disease. There was nothing anyone could do; it swept like the fires of hell across the entire continents of Europe and Asia in just a couple of years.
“Our current affliction may appear dire, but is not proving itself drastically so. We’ve so far only recorded a few thousand cases of the disease within London proper. Against the backdrop of the black death, that knowledge is solace enough.”
“It isn’t the number that’s worrisome,” Johnathan replied. “It’s the condition itself.”
There was a quiet anguish in Johnathan’s voice that William hadn’t noticed until now. It was a somber combination of fear and hatred. The fear and hatred one feels when they are confronted with a foe that they cannot face with sword drawn and jaw clenched. A foe that is not physical, cannot be cut, and that kills without remorse. It was the worst enemy to a life-long man of the sword: an enemy you simply could not fight.
“His Holiness, Pope Leo the tenth has already given our affliction a name. He refers to it as the blood fever.”
“Fitting,” Johnathan replied.

Does it leave you wanting to read more? Less? Just curious. I’ll post more excerpts as I continue to progress through the story.

On to section three: Johnathan meets with the Cardinal! *Gasp*!