Ask the Author: Michael R. Stute
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Michael R. Stute
The world ended. Not with a bang, not even with a moan, just a long, slow unraveling. I lived through it. I’m still living through it. The story you're holding isn't fiction. It’s a field report. A journal of pain, stubborn hope, and the fight to stay human when everything else rots.
They’re calling it Tales from the Z, and sure, maybe that sounds like another zombie story. It's not. It's about us. Survivors. The broken ones. The ones too mean to die and too haunted to sleep. There’s a kid who loses a hand and still holds his head high. A woman, a legend that bears a burden bound in myth, with scars and steel who cuts down nightmares with a blade older than your nation. And me, Tara. I’m not your hero. I’m not even likable most days. But I’m still here. I’m from The Winter Tale and then you’ll see me again The Summer Tale.
And don't think this is just about dodging Zs. That's the easy part. The real fight? It's in your head. It's about how much of yourself you're willing to lose just to see another sunrise. Do you cling to that soft crap like empathy and morals, or do you let this world carve you into something harder, something that can actually survive? Every day's a battle for your damn soul, and most people lose.
And this isn’t just one story. It's four seasons, four novellas, spanning years. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter—each one dragging us deeper into the ruins, further into what it means to live after everything's died. You watch people grow up. Break down. Get rebuilt with scar tissue. It’s not a timeline—it’s a reckoning.
They’re calling it Tales from the Z, and sure, maybe that sounds like another zombie story. It's not. It's about us. Survivors. The broken ones. The ones too mean to die and too haunted to sleep. There’s a kid who loses a hand and still holds his head high. A woman, a legend that bears a burden bound in myth, with scars and steel who cuts down nightmares with a blade older than your nation. And me, Tara. I’m not your hero. I’m not even likable most days. But I’m still here. I’m from The Winter Tale and then you’ll see me again The Summer Tale.
And don't think this is just about dodging Zs. That's the easy part. The real fight? It's in your head. It's about how much of yourself you're willing to lose just to see another sunrise. Do you cling to that soft crap like empathy and morals, or do you let this world carve you into something harder, something that can actually survive? Every day's a battle for your damn soul, and most people lose.
And this isn’t just one story. It's four seasons, four novellas, spanning years. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter—each one dragging us deeper into the ruins, further into what it means to live after everything's died. You watch people grow up. Break down. Get rebuilt with scar tissue. It’s not a timeline—it’s a reckoning.
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