Who are you and what do you write?
Nicholas Sansbury Smith, but I go by Nick. I write science fiction, thrillers and pretty much anything having to do with the end of the world. The apocalypse fascinates me and writing about it allows me to explore what characters would do in desperate and horrifying times. My goal with any story is to make it unique and add a twist so it stands out in the crowded field of apocalyptic books. When I’m not writing, I’m usually doing something to get the adrenaline flowing: triathlons, running, biking, swimming, kayaking, hiking, etc. Whatever gets the heart rate up. I do have a weakness for sweets and animals.
You versus your choice of author or fictional character in a fight to the death. Who would win?
Oh cool! This is one of those two authors enter Thunderdome, but only one author leaves situations? I choose…
George R.R Martin.
For the watch, and for all of my friends who want him to finish book 6.
Pretty sure I would win, because even if George could wield an Axe, there is no way in hell he could catch me. I picture this match going down a lot like the match between Red Viper and The Mountain in Game of Thrones. Here’s a link if you don’t remember it. So I guess that means, in the end, I would actually die. Serves me right for being cocky.
My final words as my head’s exploding would be, “FINISH your damn books dude!”
Looking back on the terrible things you’ve done to your characters, or the cruel backstories you’ve given them, if there was one sentence you could say to them, what would it be?
“What in the hell drove you to touch the glowing blue Orbs?”
What’s the first story you can ever remember writing? Dig deep. We’re talking grade school here if there were any!
Believe it or not, it wasn’t scifi. The first real story was about a pair of twins named Alex and John that were living during the Civil War. Alex went off to fight for the Union Army, but John couldn’t fight due to a crippled leg. While his brother was gone, John befriended several local Cheyenne Indians. Long story short, Alex was injured in the war and was reassigned to fight with the Union Army in Colorado. He was part of the Sand Creek Massacre where the Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians were slaughtered by Union troops. Unbeknownst to Alex, his brother was with his Cheyenne friends in the village of 700 the day of the Union Army attack. Told from two POVs, this was my first story showing the horror of war. In this case, two twin brothers on separate sides.
It’s a frigid winter day and you’re driving along the highway. You notice an unusual shape, the size of a truck, lodged in the snow. It is shrouded in steam; it appears to be melting the snow around it. As you slow down to get a better look, your heart stops as you realize it is some kind of alien spaceship. A portal in the vessel appears to be open, though you don’t see any movement inside or around it. What’s your move?
Will eased his car to a stop and rolled down the window. A frozen gust of wind blasted into the vehicle, but the bite of cold air wasn’t the reason he was shaking. The center of the cigar shaped spaceship protruding from a bank of snow at a forty-five degree angle was pulsating. The central rectangular door glowed red like a portal to hell.
Will grabbed the door handle and stepped out onto the highway for a better look. Seeing the empty road sent another chill up his legs. Alone, and freezing, Will turned back to the car when a voice he didn’t recognize surfaced in his mind. The dialect was unknown to him, but somewhere deep inside his brain it sounded oddly familiar. A realization hit him with the force of the gusting wind and the clicks of the foreign language suddenly made complete sense.
Come home, Will. Come back to us.
“Well, I told you this was a bad idea!” Describe, in vivid detail, the idea your friend said was a baaaad idea.
“We’re here now, Tim. There’s no turning back,” Rodney said. He craned his neck and looked at his best friend. Tim’s face was contorted into a mask of horror in the shifting glow of their single flashlight.
“Got it? No turning back…” Rodney’s voice trailed off as he grabbed the door handle. They had trekked through the damp, dark passages of the abandoned Soviet bunker for hours now, and according to the map Rodney had found, they were at the final compartment. He drew in a breath that smelled like rotting fruit and formaldehyde.
“Man, I don’t know about thi—s,” Tim whispered.
Rodney handed him the flashlight. “Dude, chill out. No one’s been down here forever.” He twisted the handle and tugged at the steel door. The base dragged across the concrete floor as the door opened for the first time in decades.
The light from Tim’s flashlight danced across the interior of the room filled with lab equipment, but Rodney wasn’t looking at the broken vials, ancient computer equipment or the gurneys draped with black sheets. His gaze was locked on the base of the inside of the door that he held open with one hand. In the weak glow from Tim’s beam, Rodney saw scratch marks crawling up the steel. Whatever animal had made them had been desperate to get out of this place.
“Rod, I think we should—” Tim began to say.
A faint whispering in what sounded a lot like Latin cut him off. Rodney’s heart pounded when he saw the distorted shadows jerking and twisting from the corner of the room. It was then he realized there was a reason this place had been sealed off. No one was supposed to find it…
Write 3 steps on how to be Nicholas Sansbury Smith.
1. Play hard, but work harder.
2. Trust your mind and ignore most of the Gollum voices.
3. Never give up in anything you do.
You feel your life force fading. You have only moments left. You look up into the cloudy sky, raise your fist and yell, “Screw you guys, I’m going home!”