Daniel Waters | Updates

Be Disarming--July 4th release

Daniel Waters — Sun, 31 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000

In Cold City, where Citizens have guns and npcs have mops, a rebellious teenage parkour and graffiti artist sparks a revolution.

From the author of the Generation Dead series, Break My Heart 1000 Times, and I Still See You comes an anti-gun graffiti artist activist adventure with a strong female protagonist. For YA dystopian readers of The Hunger Games, Divergent, and Shatter Me, lovers of Banksy, and rebels with a cause, this is a story about the power of art in the face of violent oppression.

Maudlin Angeles is just another teenage npc in Cold City, where only Citizens have rights, and gun ownership is the law. Between her shifts mopping blood off the streets and “classes” where questions are discouraged, Maudlin sneaks away to jump rooftops and practice parkour, leaving colorful graffiti on the grey walls of the Urban Ruins.

With stolen spray paint cans, Maudlin risks her life to tag a message of resistance against gun violence just in time for Restructuring Day, but the head of Cold Armaments and his heirs are watching.

As her message catches fire, a crew of fellow npc activists recruit her, but their methods are at odds. While graffiti is the only weapon she believes in, her peers and the infamous Cold Security assassin, First Person Shooter, take up arms. At the same time, Elvis, a sympathizer from the most dangerous family in Cold City, approaches her, but can he be trusted when his family is hunting her? Maudlin’s mission is to change hearts and minds, and this is either the most important alliance she’ll ever make or her death sentence.

Either way, Restructuring Day won’t wait. Liberty Square will fill with Citizens, ringing in the biggest holiday of the year with drinks, candy, and live gunfire from every direction. Maudlin built a revolution with a spray can, but can she survive it?

Preorder BE DISARMING

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Al Zuckerman

Daniel Waters — Tue, 14 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I received an email last week letting me know Al Zuckerman died. Al was my agent at the start of my professional writing career right up until his retirement in 2020 at the age of eighty-eight. His accomplishments in the publishing industry are impressive, his impact on my life, immeasurable.

I met Al through a series of plot points so linear a reader would be tempted to close the cover on the book if he or she didn’t like that type of story.

I’d known I’d wanted to write fiction for a living since I was ten years old but was knocking on thirty without having achieved public success beyond a few short story placements in low or no paying markets. Things changed when I left my cave to attend a writing workshop where my submission was the first chapter of Generation Dead. I hadn’t been in a workshopping environment since college, but the format was fairly close to what I expected. There were four pros who were the instructors, three writers I admired and an editor “from a major New York publishing house.” After introductions, the twenty or so aspirants were broken up in small groups and went round-robin to each of the pros where we critiqued each other’s pre-read work, with the attendant pro giving their final thoughts as a summation.

I was second to be critiqued at the editor’s table. My heart sank when, after some well-intentioned advice from my peers, the editor turned to me and said, “I don’t have much to say about this, you can turn to the last page and read my comment.”

Deep breath, turn the page. She’d written, “Except for the typo on page seven, I absolutely love this!!!!” I might be exaggerating the number of exclamation points.

And then, possessed of a sudden wave of confidence I’d never before experienced, or perhaps an actual demon, I said, “Excellent. When can I expect your offer?”

She smiled; we moved on. Three weeks later I received an email from her with an offer.

For three books.

I called the other instructors to thank them, and one, after popping the metaphorical champagne, suggested I talk to an agent before I signed anything. He offered to call his agent, Al, and maybe Al could partner me up with one of his junior agents. A day or two later Al himself called me and said he might like to represent me. I asked if I could meet him first; a suggestion I think he found (like most of my comments and suggestions) amusing, and said sure, come on over, and we set a date for me to see him.

If the above sounds hopelessly naïve, it gets worse. Or better, depending on your mindset. Anyone who has read my blogs over the years has likely detected a thread of naivete running through my comments and observations of “the industry”, a thick, knotty thread one wouldn’t necessarily be wrong to interpret instead as stupidity. Case in point: at the time, I knew next to nothing about agents or agencies; my only concept of them was that they were places where you sent dozens and dozens of query letters and in exchange received a form letter, no reply at all, or another form letter with “close—this was really close! Keep trying!” scrawled in the margin, a letter that somehow lifted your spirits and also broke your heart for a few days. I’d wallpapered my room with both types. So, when I boarded the train in New Haven for Danny’s Big Trip to New York City, wearing my dress shoes and new sportscoat, I had no idea that Al was the founder of Writers House, one of the most respected agencies in the business, and that he, Al Zuckerman, was considered both a titan and a pioneer in the field.

I enjoyed that train ride and the long walk to Writers House as much as any trip I’ve ever taken before or since. I remember some of my fellow passengers, I wrote down parts of the conversations they were having in the notebook I carried with me. I remember what I was feeling when I was looking through the smudgy windows at the morning sky, and what I was thinking when I was walking up the stairs into Grand Central Station. I was early; I’m always early, and so I enjoyed a coffee and an almond croissant to pass the time and I swear to you every time I’ve had that pairing since I can summon that specific moment, that wonderful moment, of my life.

I arrived at Writers House, and it was everything one would imagine if one imagined literary agencies; a stately brownstone on 26th Street, all dark wood and beautiful furnishings, books everywhere, a reception desk just inside the front door, guarding the stairs leading upwards, the receptionist answering three calls before greeting you, motioning to a hard wooden bench for you to wait. I tried eavesdropping over the sounds of my breathing and the beating of my heart, slightly elevated after my trek down Park Avenue. Finally, I was sent up the stairs.

Al was at a large, cluttered desk in the center of the office, with the sunlight reflecting through the windows behind him, giving him a halo and at times making it difficult to look at him directly. I took the chair across from the desk, which I remember as being lower (and certainly less comfortable) than the one Al sat in. All the classic power moves. Al wasted little time; after a few questions about who I was and where I was from, he told me how much he’d loved the pages he’d read and how he sensed a certain raw talent and strong work ethic in me, and assured me he wanted to represent me. He said he didn’t use a contract with his authors but instead has a simple one-page open agreement giving both parties the ability to part ways at any time.

“That sounds great!” I said. Or may have said. My memories of that first visit to his office are a little diffuse due to the absolute bomb he hit me with next.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “We’re going to turn that deal down, and I’m going to find you a better deal.” He then listed all the reasons, and there were several, why it would be better for my career in the long term to go that route rather than sign the contract I had yet to receive.

The more he spoke, the more I felt like I was falling into a bottomless hole or descending in an elevator right to hell. The halo of light around his head no longer seemed so beatific. I’d labored, for decades, to put myself onto the path for publication, and I’d finally, finally given myself a chance. I’d finally wrested an opportunity through, or so I thought at the time, sheer willpower, determination and gumption. I had an offer! For three books! It was the proverbial bird in hand, and this man I’d just met, who I had to squint uphill to see, was telling me to release it back into the wild. I’d naively—there’s that word again!—thought we were meeting to discuss Al representing the next dozen books in what was certain to be a long and prolific career, and maybe read the contract over before I signed. I’d thought I was striding into his office as some sort of conquering hero, brandishing my offer like the golden spoils of a hard-fought campaign, and Al was essentially telling me was that I was barely even on the field of engagement.

“How does that sound?” he said, brightly. Throughout the years I knew him, Al always had a bright, amused lilt and cadence to his voice

I may have said that it sounds good but needed a day to think about it. I might have said nothing at all, just risen shakily to my feet and started shuffling towards the stairs, because I was so choked up at this unexpected turn. I was robbed of words; I literally couldn’t speak. I felt a sudden wave of pressure behind my eyes and a throb in my temples, like I was fighting back tears.

Al must have sensed my distress, because what I remember then is Al, a man more than twice my age, coming around that giant desk and catching me before I started to descend. He must have seen the shock in my face or realized I was struggling for breath, because he caught me and patted my arm and said, his voice kind, reassuring, “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

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The long walk back to the station and the long train ride and the long drive back home were not filled with the romance and starry-eyed wonder of the ride in, that’s for sure. It was the dark night of the soul in all its cliched glory. Al’s thesis was my career would be over before it had really begun if I went with the initial deal, and when I’d seen the books of all the Writers House clients lining the shelves of the office, I realized he likely knew something about the industry. But was he gaslighting me? Was everyone gaslighting me? Was I gaslighting myself?

Maybe I was gaslighting myself, but I remembered the look on his face—a face I could finally see clearly now it was no longer haloed by the fun—as he patted my arm at the top of the stairs. He looked concerned, yes—but also confident. He truly believed it was all going to be okay.

Kindness and conviction, that’s what sold me. When I finally arrived home, I sent Al an email letting him know of my decision, and from that moment he was my agent.

If this the point of the story where one would expect a pivot to a second act of exploitation and misery, I’m happy to disappoint the reader, for once. Within a few weeks of my near breakdown, he called to let me know he had secured a deal with a brilliant editor, a deal which had considerably better terms than the one I’d scored on my own, and after that I didn’t have to worry about a thing in my career for many years except for writing the next paragraph. Working with Al was wonderful in every way, and together we were able to share in successes far beyond my wildest dreams and aspirations as a writer.

Speaking of disappointing the reader, it would be fair to criticize the post thus far as being predominately about me and not the person I set out to thank. I was only physically in Al’s presence a handful of times in my life; a couple lunches with editors, a party held in his honor, a dinner he held at his home for my wife and me. The last time I saw him was when I took him to lunch to celebrate the release of I Still See You, the film based on my book Break My Heart 1,000 Times. He chose Keen’s Steak House, and, typical of me, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was a vegetarian. We weren’t together often, but we spoke quite frequently, usually about whatever project I was working on at the time, but also our families, current events, his tennis game. The timing of these calls was interesting, also, as he would often call me while he was on vacation in Florida or somewhere else. He had an uncanny knack, a sixth sense, really, of when I might be struggling with the writing, because it would seem he would always call me whenever I was at my lowest ebb and offer cheerful words of encouragement, some affirmation of my ability, all delivered with his characteristic chuckle. The lift I received from the energy he conveyed always sent me back to the computer with renewed vigor.

Publishing, writing—it all may be a business, and maybe some of us would be better off if we thought of it completely in that way, if we stripped away all our romantic notions and compartmentalized whatever high-minded ideas of what writing can do for readers and for ourselves which we carry. I think though, for many of us—certainly for myself and the person I was at the time I met Al, it was far better for me to hand over the business portion of writing to him and cling to the romantic notions and the high-minded ideas like a life raft, even if that life raft just sort of kept me somewhere off-shore, somewhere between the white sand beach and the horizon. For me, handing over the business to someone who could tell me it was going to be okay, and who believed it, and who would call and check in to see how the work was going, and how I was doing—that had immeasurable value. Not just in the business, but in my life.

Every writer should have that benefit; someone who calls to check on them, someone who calls to see how the work is going.

Thanks, Al. Godspeed. It’s all going to be okay.

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What I Listened to in 2025

Daniel Waters — Fri, 3 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I’m not a music streamer, except occasionally on Bandcamp when I’m checking out artists I’m not familiar with, but my son is. He’s a touring musician, a guitarist, and we’re often comparing notes on our listening experiences. The service he uses collects and shares all sorts of data on his listening habits, and every year he has me guess what his Top Five played artists are. I think I only got two of his right this year; he guessed three of mine but my “top five” is more of a hunch as I don’t have any actual as I listen primarily on the devices pictured above: two iPod, the gold one on the right the U2 signed special edition I had customized with a terabyte chip and a trio of HIDIZS AP80 PRO-X mp3 players, also with terabyte chips and the entire collection of music I’ve amassed over several (ahem) decades. I’ll never move to a streamer and am unlikely to go beyond my test listens (and purchases) in Bandcamp; I enjoy the ritual of updating the databases on all my players with purchases of (mostly) physical media, and I prefer not to contribute any more personal data on my preferences to the Advertosphere than I have to.

And yet, here I am, telling any marketing bot that happens to listen what I listen to—well, the joke’s on you, bot! I’ll buy anything these artists create anyway!

So, here’s the top five of who I listened to in 2025; I think the order is right but no service I know of was keeping tabs on me:

Nick Cave and Family—includes the Bad Seeds, the Birthday Party, Dirty Three, Nick & Warren Ellis’s soundtrack work, some Mick Harvey solo material, Grinderman. Top spins: This Train I Ride OST by Warren Ellis, Push the Sky Away and Wild God by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Also, the 20,000 Days on Earth film.
The Church Top Spins: Starfish, Of Skins and Heart
Van Morrison Top Spins: Live at Orangefield, Astral Weeks, Remembering Now
Drive-By Truckers and Family—includes Jason Isbell, solo Patterson Hood, a Shonna Tucker album Top Spins: Shonna Tucker’s A Tell All, DBT’s A Southern Rock Opera and American Band
The Cramps—Songs the Lord Taught Us, Psychedelic Jungle/Gravest Hits

Even Top Spins is a bit misleading, because what I tend to do with an artist once I decide their music speaks to me is to go out and try to acquire their entire catalog and every side project they may have been significantly involved in, and then I’ll listen to the catalog over and over again as though performing an odd type of psychic archaeology, both within the artist(s) psyche(s) and my own, looking for intersections. Sometimes it takes years for the “click” to happen; I’d had single Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds album and a half dozen Van Morrisson albums for years; the clicks for each happened about three years ago and then it was off to the record store to purchase everything I’d missed. I should mention only The Church is new to me this year; for whatever reason it dawned on me how much I loved “The Unguarded Moment” and “Under the Milky Way” and decided I should probably check out an album and thank goodness I did; what a deep ocean of sound to bathe in.

Deep oceans—it is telling, to me, that all the artists above (except, tragically, the Cramps) have vast bodies of work spanning several decades, and also that they (again, except for the Cramps) are mostly older than me (Jason Isbell and Shonna Tucker being the top-of-mind exceptions) and all putting out some of the finest work of their already exceptional careers. #6 on the list likely would have been Fish and Marillion. Meaningful.

I like some of the kids though as well. Wet Leg is great, as is Shane Guerrette, Coma Hole, and Samara Joy. I’ve already written about Ethel Cain, and I’m a huge fan of the prolific and consistently wonderful Charley Crockett.

Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.

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Strange to me that there wasn’t any metal in the Top Five as it has been my go-to genre for much of my life; I’d written about a hundred record reviews for Metal Express Radio a few years ago. Despite no metal artists cracking the Top Five (Iron Maiden and family were no doubt #7 and have been somewhere in the top ten my whole life), my aural diet was still mineral rich. I had Spirit World on heavy rotation, their new one Helldorado and Deathwestern and all the singles from Bandcamp. Also listened to a lot of Type O Negative, The Gathering, A-Z (Ray Alder from Fates Warning on vocals), and I discovered Cynic and Beyond Creation for the first time.

On the other end of the scale, I listen to a great deal of jazz, especially Lounge music. Like, a lot of it. Les Baxter, Martin Denny, Esquivel, the Ultra Lounge series, Julie London, Anita O’Day, Sinatra, Combustible Edison, all combined in a gigantic playlist.

Last post I mentioned reading two books about The Church, as well as a book by Nick Cave and one by Warren Ellis. When That Rough God Goes Riding by Greil Marcus (@grielmarcus here on substack) may be the best of many books I’ve read on the work of Van the Man, and any fan of the Cramps (and whoever isn’t a fan of the Cramps needs to explain themselves) really needs to read Journey to the Center of the Cramps by Dick Porter. The story and relationship of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy really should be celebrated as one of the most beautiful unions in the history of Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Speaking of Rock ‘n’ Roll, I wrote a novel which in some ways is a love letter to the form, Aural History . Please consider supporting my efforts by clicking the cover or link and purchasing a copy.

Aural History - Kindle edition by Waters, Daniel. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

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Daniel Waters — Thu, 2 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

A typical reading year for me, although fewer books in total than usual. A few by friends, a few by acquaintances, many by people I wish were my friends. One from a friend of my son’s. Several by musicians or about musicians, several graphic novels. Several “classics”, several biographies of creative souls, several self-helpish/life improvement books. Each was an enjoyable reading experience; I quit the reading “clean your plate” club a few years ago and will tap out at roughly fifty pages if I’m not enjoying what I’m reading.

Many of these were read on the kindle app on my phone; two of the physical copies are signed by the authors. I bought the Joan Aiken book above at a used bookstore in Northampton, Massachusetts. I bought Nina Simone’s Gum in an airport in Europe, probably Prague. One has been on my shelf, unread, for at least a decade. Several I’d bought years ago; some I began reading the day I bought them. I purchased Bunnyman at Third Man Records in Nashville, and when I was there a guy in a truck kept driving around the block and laying on his horn every time he pulled even with the store, apparently to harass the staff. The third time he did this, a guy came running out of the back room and at first I thought it was Jack White himself, ready to unleash some chin music to protect his people (and customers). Thankfully there was no violence, at least when I was there. I also bought a Detroit Cobras 45s, a couple stickers, and a Conan O’Brien record for my son.

Several were purchased at my favorite bookstore in the world, The Book Barn, which is twenty-two miles from my house. At least two dozen of them inspired me to go to my own writing desk, not because of subject matter or theme necessarily, but because—writing! Yes!

The list is in a loose chronological order, loose because I usually am reading two or three books at a time. The exception being Matthew Dow Smith, who I listed first because I love him.

1. The October Girl Matthew Dow Smith

2. Available Dark Elizabeth Hand

3. The Player Michael Tolkin

4. Thinking 101 Woo-Kyoung Ahn

5. The Return of the Player Michael Tolkin

6. Swamp Thing Bronze Age Vol 1 Wein, Wrightson, et al.

7. Swamp Thing Bronze Age Vol 2 Kraft, Pasko, et al.

8. Exit Stage Left Mick Duerden

9. Haunted Heart Lisa Rogan

10. Mindware Richard Nisbett

11. Stay True Hua Hsu

12. Elevation Stephen King

13. Nina Simone’s Gum Warren Ellis

14. The Magic Mountain Thomas Mann

15. Misfits of Magic Matthew Dow Smith

16. Northanger Abbey Jane Austen

17. The Transposed Heads Thomas Mann

18. A Tale of Two Cities Charles Dickens

19. The Sick-Bag Song Nick Cave

20. Decline and Fall Evelyn Waugh

21. T-Shirts I Love Haruki Murakami

22. Speaks the Nightbird Robert McCammon

23. Mucha Delphi Classics

24. Angel’s Inferno William Hjortsburg

25. The Harder I Fight the More I Love You Neko Case

26. Not a Speck of Light Laird Barron

27. Mojo Marshall Goldsmith

28. Incidents Around the House Josh Mallerman

29. Swamp Thing, Bronze Age Vol 3 Pasko, Yeates et al.

30. Hellblazer Vol 1 Delano, Ridgway et al.

31. Scared Stiff Ramsey Campbell

32. Lonely City Olivia Lang

33. Queenpin Megan Abbott

34. Hellblazer Vol 2 Delano, Lloyd et al.

35. Asa, As I Knew Him Susanna Kaysen

36. Peak Mind Amishi Jha

37. Bunnyman Will Sergeant

38. Four and Twenty Blackbirds Cherie Priest

39. Hellblazer Vol 3 Delano, McKean et al.

40. Ghosts Come Rising Adam Perry

41. Bossypants Tina Fey

42. Bech, A Book John Updike

43. Bech is Back John Updike

44. The Confessions of Claude Emile Zola

45. Hugging the Shore John Updike

46. Hellblazer 4 Delano, Morrison et al.

47. Bech at Bay John Updike

48. No Certainty Attached Robert Dean Lurie

49. The Road Through the Woods Colin Dexter

50. Strange Pictures Uketsu

51. Nina Simone’s Gum Warren Ellis (yes, again)

52. Something Quite Peculiar Steve Kilbey

53. Born to Be Posthumous Mark Dery

54. Of Human Bondage Somerset Maugham

55. The Moon & Sixpence Somerset Maugham

56. The Case Against Satan Ray Russell

57. David Copperfield Charles Dickens

58. A Touch of Chill Joan Aiken

59. Transurfing in 78 Days Vadim Zeland

60. Crackpot Palace Jeffrey Ford

61. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie Muriel Spark

62. Gypsy Rizka Lloyd Alexander

63. Writing for Children Joan Aiken

64. The Twilight Pariah Jeffery Ford

65. The 1-Page Marketing Plan Allan Dib

66. Arabel and Mortimer Joan Aiken

67. The Toll Cherie Priest

68. Owning Up George Pelecanos

69. How To Know A Person David Brooks

70. How Music Works David Byrne

71. The Prague Cemetery Umberto Eco

Did you read any of these in 2025? Any RIYL recs? Let me know!

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Ripple Effects

Daniel Waters — Wed, 25 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

On Jan 6th, I wrote about how I had a PTSD-type response to Sandy Hook that rendered me unable to write fiction for six months. After doing some research on my legacy blog (a link to which you can find on my spiffy new website at www.danielwaters.com), I realized I wasn’t able to engage fully with the rest of the world in other ways, as well.

I’d been a fairly regular blogger in the years’ prior, with anywhere from 20-ish to 105 (!) posts each year on my personal blog and another 10-57 a year on my Generation Dead character blog www.mysocalledundeath.com . In 2012, I’d made twenty-one posts, the last on December 4th. Sandy Hook happened nine days later.

I didn’t post again until May of 2015, a gap of nearly two and a half years.

I never really “caught the bug” for blogging (or social media in general) engagement again. There was a flurry of activity around events like the I Still See You Movie, the start of OMZ Press, and new books like My Best Friends are Dead and Aural History, but I wasn’t able to sustain it.

But, we grow, we heal, we learn, we persist, and I certainly miss the very robust and rewarding online relationship I had with readers and nonreaders alike, and so I’m getting back in the ring once again—and am extremely excited to do so.

That said—I need your help! What would you like to see me write about here? I’m aiming at eight monthly posts (I know! I know!) and figure the majority of the content will center around:

*Lore about my books
*Lore about me as a writer
*Lore about the business of writing, publishing, and entertainment
*Comments, takes, celebrations, or observations on current events/culture

Like I said, I was doing research on my legacy blog and as part of that, I reviewed all the individual post engagement scores, and my main conclusion is I have no idea what was working and what wasn’t!

There didn’t seem to be any correlation between the most read blogs and their content, and the posts that “tanked” seemed to be about the same general topics as the ones that went over like a lead zeppelin. Or Led Zeppelin. I have a trained marketing professional looking into it, but I need to hear it from you, the source of all goodness! Please comment below.

I greatly appreciate you signing up for my Substacks and being a part of the journey. As you know, growing an audience isn’t easy (especially for the more introverted among us), and so I would be incredibly grateful if you felt inclined to refer a friend who you think might enjoy the content to sign up here and/or at danielwaters.com.

I would be just as thrilled if you posted an honest review of any of my books on Amazon, Goodreads, or any other outlet that might catch some eyeballs.

Also, shout out to my O.G. readers and followers at the original danielwaters.com and mysocalledundeath.com. I intend to reward your patience with me!

Vibes,

Daniel

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Rare Retro Vinyl

Daniel Waters — Tue, 24 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Were you ever in a band?

Ever want to be in a band?

Know someone who was in a band?

Ever like a band?

Have a big music collection? An endless Spotify playlist? Into retro culture? Into vinyl? Like jazz? Rap? Rock? Metal? Ever dated a goth girl? Are a goth girl? Ever dated a musician? Have seen a ghost? Want to see a ghost? Want to hear a ghost?

Ever hear that certain song that reminds you of that certain time/place/person and you wished the song would never end?

Well then step right up to the turntable and drop the needle on Aural History, the story of twenty-something bass player Chris Mahon. Think you know music trivia? Do your best to identify the dozens of ghosts Chris meets along the way trying to make sense of his art and his life.

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Generation Cain

Daniel Waters — Tue, 24 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

You know what else they would have on heavy rotation? My newest book, Aural History. Ghosts and music, musical ghosts, ghost music. Available here: Aural History

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Reflections on Writing and the Five-Year Anniversary of January 6th

Daniel Waters — Thu, 8 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

A little over thirteen years ago, I experienced a trauma so great I couldn’t write fiction for about six months.

I was home alone, working, when a live report of the Sandy Hook school shooting appeared on my news feed, and then I turned on the television and watched the events unfold live.

My wife Kim was a teacher at the time (in Connecticut), both of my own children were attending school at the time of the event (in Connecticut). I write books for young people, many of which are set in schools (in Connecticut).

The original impetus for the Generation Dead series was a response (a trauma response?) to a news program I watched while on the road concerning the use of social media to promote bullying in schools.

The initial impulse to write Break My Heart 1,000 Times, where the United States is filled with ghosts, was a response (a trauma response?) to my feelings about how we as a nation were dealing with the aftermath of 9/11. In the bonus features of the Blu-ray of the movie version of that book, I Still See You, I speak about those feelings and about spending the week after 9/11 assisting with the initial restoration of the Pentagon, an action which both escalated and assuaged my personal trauma.

In preparing for this post, I read that the surviving children of Sandy Hook Elementary returned to school (a different school, but still) just three weeks after. How could I, or anyone else, possibly understand what that was like for them or their families? I can’t. How could I try and explain the effect not writing for six months had on me, personally and professionally, when prior to that moment writing fiction was a daily practice for me, an organizing principle that gave every aspect of my life shape and meaning? I can’t. When something scratches my soul, my response is to try and write about it and suddenly I couldn’t. Trauma. It ripples through us all.

But at some point, trauma triggered anger and with anger came a spirit of resilience. Around six months after watching that event unfold live before my streaming eyes, I tried to write “about” it; I’m not a journalist, and I’m not interested in writing fictionalized accounts of what really happened. My method for dealing with trauma in fiction, collective and personal, is to write obliquely, but also directly about it. To try and examine the theme from several angles, lenses, and points of view; to present counterpoints, questions, and maybe hint towards answers in the rare moments of clarity.

Be Disarming, which will be published through OMZ Press on July 4th of this year, is my attempt to process and reconcile my thoughts and feelings about a society that could produce an event like the Sandy Hook shooting. The book took years to write and has undergone more drafts and directional changes than anything I’ve worked on prior, almost as if I had to reimagine everything I was doing with each of the many, many, many, many, too many mass shooting events the country has endured since.

Today is the five-year anniversary of another event that left most Americans traumatized in some way. After 9/11 and Sandy Hook, the January 6th insurrection was the event that affected me the most, more so than the pandemic, even. There is a scene in Be Disarming, a scene which I wrote several years prior to Jan 6, 2021, which is oddly predictive of the events of that terrible day. The fictional event in the book—a city-wide riot—completely redefines who gets to be a “citizen” and leads to a very literal interpretation and reverse of the Edward Abbey quote:

“When guns are outlawed, only the Government will have guns. The Government - and a few outlaws.”

In the world of Be Disarming, Citizens are required to carry guns—“Personal Defense Armaments”, or PDAs—by the government. But there’s a large group of people, people like my main protagonist Maudlin Angeles, who aren’t Citizens any more, they have been reduced to the level of npc, or “non-participant civilian”, forced into menial and service roles (or eliminated outright, when more convenient) by not only the militarized institutions which are the foundation of the government, but also by their once fellow-Citizens.

Sound familiar? I wish it didn’t!

In the fictional world, at least, there’s some hope; despite her lowly status, Maudlin Angeles, urban street artist and parkour traceuse extraordinaire, is relentless in her attempts to be an agent of positive change. I’ll write more about her life in the world of Be Disarming over the next few months leading up to publication, so please stick around for future news.

Please note: I don’t intend to minimize anyone else’s trauma, or equate my trauma with anyone else’s, especially those directly affected by any of the events I mention above; everyone experiences trauma differently. I’m just trying to articulate my own trauma responses.

*Also, I am looking for reviewers to read and post an honest review/vlog/blog/tiktok/whatever of Be Disarming ahead of publication. If the book sounds like something you would relate to, or react to, or if, like me, you struggle with coping with our society’s attitudes regarding violence, please contact me directly at:

Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free here or at Substack @generationdead to receive new posts and support my work.

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Newsletter News

Daniel Waters — Sat, 3 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Hello, all. I tentatively re-enter (fully) the world of social media with a weekly newsletter through substack. You can sign up here or at https://generationdead.substack.com/ . My first post, meaningfully, will be on Jan. 6 and includes some book news. If you've enjoyed any of my books or legacy blog posts, I'd appreciate you signing up, interacting, and helping spread the word if you are so inclined.

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Virtual Van Sale

Daniel Waters — Tue, 16 Dec 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Virtual Holiday Van Sale

I'm selling books out of the back of my virtual van. I have a limited number of copies (thousands, actually) of most of my books I'm offering for virtual van-rate prices. $12.00 for hardcovers, $7.00 for paperbacks, $5.00 per book to cover the shipping and handling Quantity discounts available. If you want a case, I'm sure we can work something out. Signatures, personalized messages, those weird scratchy zombies and ghosts I draw--all free for the asking.

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I've a few of the UK "flower" paperbacks and some of the translated editions as well. Hardcovers of the Spanish GD series, some BMH1K in Spanish, French, Portuguese, and Italian which are all softcover.

The perfect Halloween or Christmas gift! If interested, email me at watersdan at aol.com and I'll let you know if I have what you want in stock. While supplies last!

Note: I don't have any of the OMZ editions of the Generation Dead series or Aural History on hand, but they can be ordered (and you'll probably get them much faster) through Amazon or your local bookstore.

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