psychology – Looking to God

Rigor

Posted on September 21, 2015September 18, 2015 by Jack Flacco

One of the perks when writing books about zombies is the fact that I can research various subjects such as physics, epidemics and psychology. With each subject comes a set of fascinating facts I never knew, had I not looked into it on my own. The most interesting and morbid of all subjects I’ve had to study is the rate of decomposition of the dead, the various phases, and the ultimate appearance of the body weeks after the process had begun. It is not a subject for the faint of heart or for regular readers of my Monday Mayhem series to indulge in while having breakfast.

Having watched every episode of The Walking Dead and Fear the Walking Dead, my perspective has changed from when I first became interested in the genre.

For instance, in the early years of my fixation with the undead, my focus fell on what the survivors had to do in order for them to stay alive. Coincidentally, the underlying theme in the early seasons of The Walking Dead is that of survival in the thick of a zombie apocalypse—even if no one really calls them zombies in the show. Survival means different things to different people. In the broad context of the show’s premise, survival means living another day without having had worried about a walker getting in the way. To this end, the survivors play a game of human vs. beast throughout the early part of the series.

As the years went on, however, and by no means would I compare my experience with others who follow the genre, I’ve noticed the plight of the survivors has not been against the walkers but against themselves. Nothing could be more evident of this fact than with last season’s premier when the survivors’ main enemy was a band of cannibals determined to make Rick and his crew their evening meal. For some, cannibalism may have crossed the line, but the ratings sure haven’t reflected that matter. If anything, the audience, including myself, keeps coming back for more.

When it comes to story, The Walking Dead, and now Fear the Walking Dead, has and is leading viewers through a range of emotions that only a good drama can deliver.

Getting back to my original thought about my education within the genre in relation to the shows—has anyone else noticed the walkers in The Walking Dead are different from when they hit the scene in the first episode? Recently, they’ve decomposed rapidly leaving no doubt they’re slowly dying but at a slower pace than otherwise any medical student would suggest. Their skin has lost much of its elasticity. Their color has turned darker. And they have become sluggish as opposed to their former selves, living or otherwise.

Yet, it leaves me wondering what the walkers will look like once the series is over. Will they explode like a bag a goo, as depicted in one episode of a walker trapped in a well? Or will they simply shrivel into a nub and crunch to their ultimate death?

I know that it’s a silly observation, but how can anyone ignore the basic levels of rigor? I can’t imagine what science will do to the walkers once it gets through with them.

Just a thought.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale now.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ALIEN INVASION, on sale now.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE SEARCH FOR PARADISE, on sale October 20.

What do you think will happen with the walkers when the series completes? Will the science of rigor finally take revenge on the undead?

What Is Success?

Posted on June 12, 2015May 9, 2017 by Jack Flacco

Think of something you really, really want. Now, close your eyes and imagine having it. Wait, did you just close your eyes? I meant for you to close them for a second or two, not indefinitely. Go ahead and close them for a few seconds. I’m hoping you opened them again. Okay, forget about closing your eyes. Gosh. This is getting complicated. Let’s start over.

Think of something you really, really want. Now, imagine having it. Can you see it? If it’s an object, can you feel it? What’s the texture like under the pads of your fingers? Try to imagine the sensation. If it’s something you’ve wanted to do like, take that vacation you’ve been thinking about, imagine the spot. Are you feeling the water splashing over your skin while you’re lying on the beach? Can you feel the sun beat down on your head? Okay, so maybe a sunny spot is not for everyone. How about a refreshing Alaskan Vacation? You can’t beat six months of sunshine or six months of darkness.

The thing about the imagination is the brain can’t tell what is real and what is make-believe. To the mind, it’s all the same. Have you ever seen a movie where you’re on the edge of your chair wondering what will happen next? The brain is telling you that it’s firing its synapses in order for you to feel the thrill the movie is providing. The brain thinks it’s real.

Studies have proven the brain is a resilient organ. It remembers things beyond what we think it remembers. When we think about the past, it’s as if we’re reliving the experiences all over again.

Let’s go back to thinking about stuff. Are you ready? Imagine the first time you fell in love. Do you have the thought yet? If you’ve never fallen in love, then imagine your first crush. Better still, do you remember your first kiss? Really, take a moment and think about it. Remember how your heart flipped inside of you, how the center of your being burned with the pangs of wanting this person in your life. Do you feel your palms sweaty, your lips tingly and your breath speeding up? Remember how you couldn’t sleep without thinking about them? How you couldn’t eat because your stomach had a knot the size of a baseball twirling about, never leaving you alone?

If you’ve really stopped to think about it, and felt all those emotions all over again, then that’s your mind at work. It can’t tell the difference if those thoughts you’re having are real.

That’s why it’s important to think of your goals as if you have already achieved them. I’m not talking about that self-hypnosis/self-enlightenment movement going around in the entertainment industry these days. We have enough of that in the gossip columns when we read about stars who have lost touch with reality because they think they are better than everyone else.

What I’m referring to is about work and reward. Training the mind with the feeling of having attained a reward. The best way to do this is to write things down in a list and crossing the items off as you complete them. Instant reward. The other way is thinking about having already won the fight. The mind doesn’t know better, so the mind will release the same chemicals into the brain to provide that satisfaction a person would receive when achieving a goal.

When this happens, the mind will press you to want to achieve that goal.

Simple, right?

Only, you’ll have to follow through. It’s not enough to think about what you want. The mind will reward you, but that feeling in the pit of your stomach, when you see things haven’t really changed, will want you to change.

You can only go so far with the mind. Eventually, you’ll have to take steps to achieve the goal in reality in order to receive the reward in reality.

Make a list. Follow through. Win.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, on sale now.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE ALIEN INVASION, on sale now.
RANGER MARTIN AND THE SEARCH FOR PARADISE, on sale October 20.

What’s on your list? Does anyone know the goals you want to achieve?

Women Who Wow Wednesday

Clarice Starling

Posted on October 15, 2014October 17, 2014 by Jack Flacco

Nailed to a tree as five separate signs, the message to everyone who dares venture into the FBI training ground is clear: Hurt. Agony. Pain. Love—it. Pride. With those words, the chilling movie The Silence of the Lambs begins.

As Women Who Wow Wednesday continues its month-long tribute to women who rock Horror, which began with Maleficent, and continued last week with Claudia from Interview with the Vampire, today we’ll have a look at Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster), the detective who uses one psychopath to catch another with horrifying results.

She’s in the top quarter of her class, double major in psychology, criminology, and graduated Magna. She was an intern at the Reitzinger Clinic, and more than anything wants to work for Mr. Crawford (Scott Glenn) in Behavioral Science.

From the moment Clarice steps into the Behavioral Science Services office, the images of serial killer Buffalo Bill’s victims sink into her eyes. When Mr. Crawford walks in and offers her a seat. He remembers her from his seminar at UVA where she grilled him about the bureau’s civil rights record during the Hoover years—he gave her an A. Not quite. She remembers an A minus.

He has a job for her. The FBI is interviewing serial killers in custody for a psycho-behavioral profile. They’re looking for help in unsolved cases. He asks, “Do you spook easily, Starling?”

“Not yet.” She answers.

Crawford then asks Clarice to profile Hannibal Lecter—“Hannibal the Cannibal” as he is known. But he warns her to be very careful with Hannibal Lecter. She cannot deviate from the physical procedures she will take when interviewing him. Above all else, she cannot tell him anything personal. She cannot afford to have Hannibal Lecter inside her head.

Once Clarice realizes Hannibal the Cannibal is a monster, a pure psychopath and the asylum’s most prized asset, she takes precautions by heeding to the rules:

Do not touch or approach the glass.
Pass him nothing but soft paper.
No pencils or pens, no staples or paper clips in his paper.
Use the sliding food carrier, no exception.
If he passes anything, do not accept.

From there, Clarice takes it upon herself to play the game she needs to play with Lecter in order to get what she needs. She attempts different ways to get into his head, but he proves, with his genius ability to sense her next move, he isn’t a pushover. If anyone’s getting played, it’s her.

Throughout her interviews, she adapts and modifies her methodology to Lecter’s coy ways. With every play and counter-play, they raise the stakes until someone surrenders.

In the dark world Clarice inhabits, there are serial killers, murderers and psychos. However, that’s not to say she is weak when terrifying events knock her from her seat. She’s resilient, making it easy for anyone to choose her as the perfect example of a woman who stands up for her convictions against the evil in this world.

With Clarice in the room, darkness has nowhere to hide.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ALIEN INVASION, on sale October 21.

If you’ve seen Silence of the Lambs, what did you find most frightening?

Freedom Friday

The Fidget

Posted on September 5, 2014October 17, 2014 by Jack Flacco

The other day I took a train ride into the city. I was on my way to a meeting when our train met with a half-hour delay. I was fine, continuing to read on my tablet, but I noticed the other passengers were not. They began to fidget. Yes, fidget. If you had to wait for anything for a long period, you’d know what I mean.

As strange a topic as this is, I want to talk about the all-important fidget. I do it, and I’m sure you do it, too. What would Freedom Friday be like if I didn’t write about off-the-wall issues that affects everyone?

Back to my train story. We were already traveling for an hour when the announcement came that we needed to divert from our track in order to avoid a derailment that had taken place in the early morning hours.

That’s when the first wave began.

Not necessarily in this order, but it started with one of the passengers sitting and looking out the window of our coach, drumming his fingers on his leg. He was not listening to music. Within minutes, I peered over my reader and saw another passenger checking the time on her device. It continued. Another was tapping his feet while another kept squirming in her seat.

Between watching others yawn, scratch, and stretch, I was getting a kick from noting how quickly people get restless when their patience leaves them.

Here’s the dictionary definition of a fidget according to Google:

Verb: make small movements, especially of the hands and feet, through nervousness or impatience

“The audience had begun to fidget on their chairs”

Noun: a quick, small movement, typically a repeated one, caused by nervousness or impatience

“He disturbed other people with convulsive fidgets.”

I fidget. I do. When I’m waiting in line and the person in front of me has completed their business but instead of leaving stays and exchanges pleasantries—you best be sure I’m fidgeting. I suppose I do it because if I have errands to finish I don’t want to wait in line listening to folks chat about their new color nail polish. That happened. I also don’t want to hear about the sad state of traffic while driving to the store. I know it was bad. Had it been light, I wouldn’t have had to wait behind a long line at checkout. That happened, too.

This is random—I wonder what constitutes a fidget. I mean, is it the nervous facial tick one expresses when someone is driving them crazy? Is it the shaking of the leg under the table when a guy sees a pretty girl who he wants to ask out? Is it the wringing of the hands from a girl ready to punch a guy for making a pass at her?

Not all fidgets are bad. Nope. For instance, did you know therapists train ADHD patients coping skills that involve fidgeting? You heard me right. As a means to remain focused, ADHD patients take to tapping, chewing gum and even listening to music. Their concentration increases and they overcome the need to keep moving. How great is that?

Well, I’m not a psychologist, by any means. Perhaps fidgeting is the body’s way of coping in tight situations. Or maybe it’s just a way for us to serve each other a quick ticket to the insane asylum. Whatever it is, I find it fascinating to watch the effects of the almighty fidget when a person’s expectations implode after a minor delay.

I’m going to go stand in line now. I may find something else as mundane as a fidget to write about.

RANGER MARTIN AND THE ALIEN INVASION, on sale October 21.

Have you noticed what prompts your fidgets?

Freedom Friday

The Elephant

Posted on March 22, 2013March 22, 2013 by Jack Flacco

I had a dream the other night. I think it safe sharing it with you. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to tell anyone, right? Aw, heck, it is Freedom Friday so if you feel like telling someone, go ahead. I won’t stop you.

I dreamt I was leading a marching band. One of those big, fat New Orleans’ marching bands. You know the kind, with the flutes shrilling, trumpets blaring, and drums banging. I blew on my whistle, twirled my baton—the whole bit, really. I was in my element. As I led the zombie-like musicians through the street (they weren’t zombies, they just followed me that way), an elephant appeared right in our path. I kid you not. It stood there not moving. We had to come to an abrupt halt. No more shrilling, blaring or banging. And no more whistling or twirling for me. A dead stop.

I looked at the elephant hoping my stare would cause it to move. It didn’t move. It just thrust its trunk back and forth, and blew a heavy sound. All I wanted it to do was for it to move from our path in order for us to continue doing what we did best—make music. It wasn’t having any of it. It sat its dump truck behind on the pavement and wouldn’t budge.

When I awoke, I immediately wondered what I had eaten the night before. It was unusual to have a dream this vivid and remember it in detail the next morning. I thought back on those tacos stuffed with spicy meat, shredded cheese and delicious salsa. It couldn’t have been the tacos. I wasn’t burping them through my nose.

As nighttime neared, I prepared for sleep. My nighttime ritual consists of kissing my wife, saying goodnight to the kids, changing into my PJs, brushing my teeth, going to the bathroom and making up the bed. It’s during the course of making up the bed that my mind races a mile a minute recapping the day’s events. It was here where the thought of the elephant kept pounding my head. It wouldn’t let go. Stupid elephant.

That same night, I fell asleep and dreamt of the same big, fat New Orleans’ marching band. The same flutes shrilling, trumpets blaring, and drums banging. And of the same stupid elephant sitting its massive rump on the pavement where we needed to pass. The next morning I was at a loss. Is it possible someone was trying to tell me something? Was my subconscious playing tricks on me? Had I crossed over to the throes of insanity, never to regain my tempered state?

Therefore, I did what any other person would have done on the brink of a mental breakdown. I told a friend. I blurted out everything, the band, the elephant—everything. My friend thought for a moment and said, “Don’t ask, why the elephant got in your way. Ask, why you were leading a big ass marching band.”

Could I have missed the obvious? I was so busy worrying about the elephant that I’d forgotten about the band. Once I looked at it that way, I wondered where all the cheerleaders were.

Ever have strange dreams? Care to share? Promise, we won’t tell.

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