Thanks for all the guidance…

and for kicking my ass.

CHAINSAW DISCO BLOODBATH:

THE SHANE MCKENZIE STORY

BY NATE SOUTHARD

The house looked normal enough. Hell, the house looked downright quaint. A brick two-story in suburbia, a few cars in the driveway. Normally, I get nervous the first time I enter somebody’s home, but the exterior of this place was so calm and quiet that I felt perfectly at ease.

“Naaaaaaaaaate!”

Shane greeted me with a shout that shook my bones. He was wearing a luchador mask, tuxedo shirt with the sleeves torn off, and suspenders. It was a one in the afternoon on a weekday.

Fine, that last part is a lie. It was a Saturday, and I was there for a Halloween party. Still, the rest of it was true, and the dichotomy between the loud, slightly crazy Shane and his quaint, cozy home is a fun little metaphor for the man and his writing.

That’s the thing, ya dig? You don’t see Shane McKenzie coming.

I mean that. I sure as hell didn’t see him coming. A couple years back, I received a few emails from Shane, who also lives in the Austin area. It’s always good to meet a writer living in your hometown, so we exchanged a few emails back and forth. At the time, Shane was largely working as an editor, writing fiction when he wasn’t busy putting together anthologies. Right away, I found myself impressed with the guy’s drive. He was reaching out and snagging stories from amazing writers like Bentley Little, Joe R. Lansdale, and Jack Ketchum. These are writers who still intimidate me, so his gumption left me a little slack-jawed.

When I finally met Shane all face-to-face like, I was surprised by how quiet and cool he was. Shane talks to you in the laidback, friendly way that eventually takes control of everybody who lives in Austin. He’s fast with a handshake, but that’s about it. Everything else he delivers with an easy cool that makes you expect to see smoke curling around him. I’d tell you his voice pours out of him like coffee and honey or something like that, but I hang out with Shane all the time, and he doesn’t need to know about my man-crush.

But I could go on all day about the strange and surprising little quirks that make Shane McKenzie the hombre he is. I could tell you how he’s Scottish and Korean, and how that somehow makes him look Mexican. I could tell you how an ecstatic, enthusiastic Shane sounds calmer than a bored Shane. And sure, you could say I just did. I guess I’d have to tell you to shut up and stop being a jerky jerkface so I can finish my damn story.

Rude . . .

Anyways, so at the 2011 World Horror Convention, Shane told me about this idea he had for a bizarre zombie novel where the cannibalism would be caused by a strange form of gluttony. Immediately, I thought it was a fun idea. He asked if I’d be willing to read it, and I said I would. When the manuscript hit my inbox, I opened it right away and started reading.