First—my deepest condolences to the family of Charlie Kirk.
May you find strength. May you find peace. There are no words strong enough for loss. Especially when it comes like this.

Second—I try to keep my politics quiet. Not because I don’t care. But because I’m wired that way. I’d rather think, listen, write.

But some things go beyond sides.

Some things are just wrong.

And this?

This was one of them.

Killing someone. Assassinating someone—because of what they say, what they believe, who they support?

That’s not protest.

That’s not change.

That’s madness.

And I want to believe most people—left, right, center—agree with that. Because we have to agree on that. It’s not about what Charlie Kirk stood for. It’s not about whether you cheered him or challenged him. It’s about the act.

Because history doesn’t treat these moments kindly.

Assassinations don’t end movements.

They ignite them.

They don’t create peace. They fuel revenge. World wars have started this way. Tyrants have risen this way. Civil wars have exploded this way.

And if we’re not careful—

If we don’t speak up—

We’ll watch history repeat itself. Louder. Bloodier.

Charlie was an activist.

He was a father. He was a husband. And now he’s gone.

What comes next depends on us.

I’ve seen some of the media spin. I’ve seen the Twitter/X/TikTok rage. The memes. The cheers. The conspiracy threads. The revenge videos. And it makes my stomach turn.

Some voices on all sides—fringe voices, I hope—are celebrating. Because If they’re the fringe, we have a chance. If they’re not? If that rage is moving mainstream?

Then we’re in serious, serious trouble. Because the moment we accept this. The moment we justify violence because “they had it coming”. We give up something we may never get back.

Our humanity.

So today I pray.

Not just for Charlie’s family.

But for us.

That cooler heads hold. That louder voices say, this is not who we are. Because once we cross this line. We don’t come back from it.

Not without losing far more than one man.

Stay human.

Stay grounded.

Don’t let rage write the next chapter.

The post On the assasination of Charlie Kirk appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

And yes—it is the biggest disruptor the world has ever seen.

For someone like me, an “unknown author,” it’s been a gift. A productivity booster like no other. Research, brainstorming, editing—AI is like having ten assistants working 24/7.

But let’s not kid ourselves.

AI isn’t just here to help. It’s replacing. It’s already taken jobs. Writers. Designers. Coders. Customer support. Legal. Finance. HR.

Gone. Or going. And it’s getting faster. Smarter.

Which brings up the big one—the scary what-if.

What if AI takes over all jobs?

Not 5%.

Not 50%.

But all of them.

Yes—what if… it does?

That thought hit me hard after watching a podcast from Diary of a CEO featuring Dr. Roman Yampolskiy: 

Now, to be clear—the video is a bit alarmist.

And I’m not a computer scientist.

I’m not even smart enough to unpack half the concepts in that talk.

But what I am—

Is a storyteller.

So when someone says, “AI could become smarter than every human alive…”

My story brain goes into overdrive.

And the question won’t leave me:

What happens to us when we’re no longer needed?

Unreast at a Global Scale

Imagine it’s 2045. Or pick any year you like. AI now runs everything. Every industry. Every field. Every system.

Doctors? AI.

Engineers? AI.

Pilots? AI.

Teachers? AI.

CEOs? AI.

What about the rest of us? The answer?

Nothing.

We’re jobless. Billions of people. No purpose. No paycheck. No path forward.

That’s not science fiction. That’s societal collapse.

Because when people lose their income, they lose more than money.

They lose dignity.

They lose routine.

They lose identity.

And when that happens—history shows us what follows. Protests. Looting. Riots. Violence. Governments are collapsing under the weight of the angry, hungry, and ignored.

And this time?

It’ll be global.

Not just one region or one revolution. It’ll be everywhere. Simultaneously.

Because the jobless won’t just be the poor. It’ll be everyone. White-collar. Blue-collar. No-collar. All of us. Together. With othing to do.

Scary?

That’s just the beginning.

Rise of Universal Basic Income

The Rise of Universal Basic Income

Enter the next “solution.”

Universal Basic Income. UBI.

It’s already being tested in some countries. It’s the idea that everyone—job or no job—gets a fixed amount of money from the government every month.

Sounds good, right?

In a world where AI takes the jobs, UBI would be the lifeline. The buffer. The safety net. You could still eat. Pay rent. Maybe even travel a bit.

But now ask this:

What if that’s the only money you have?

And the only people controlling it—are the people who control the AI?

Think about that for a second.

No job means no alternative income. No alternative income means total dependency. Total dependency means total control.

People will be controlled like never before

Imagine this:

You speak out.

You protest the system.

You break some arbitrary “terms of service” for being a citizen.

And suddenly, your UBI doesn’t arrive that month. Or next month. Or ever again. Not because you broke a law. But because you stepped out of line. That’s not paranoia. That’s programmable currency. It’s already being tested in digital pilot programs.

AI gives them the tools.

UBI gives them the leverage.

You want food? Obey.

You want rent money? Obey.

You want to exist? Obey.

And we’d call it “just the way it is.”

Because what choice would we have?

Other Outcomes?

Could it go better?

Maybe.

In an ideal world, AI frees us from labor. We don’t need to work. We’re given time to paint, read, travel, create, raise families, explore space.

It becomes a utopia of abundance. But humans don’t have the best track record with power. We don’t always share. We don’t always play fair. And those who build the AI? Own the AI? Control the AI?

They will have unimaginable leverage over the rest of us. Unless systems are built with transparency, accountability, and ethics—

We’re passengers.

Not pilots.

Back to the Fiction

Now, maybe you think this is all too dark. Maybe you think AI will help, not harm. Maybe you think the world will adapt.

I hope you’re right.

But as a fiction writer, I follow patterns.

And when I see a pattern this big, this fast, this unchecked? It’s not a what-if anymore. It’s a plot line worth watching. Because once AI takes over all jobs—

We stop being necessary.

And once we’re no longer necessary?

That’s the start of a very different story.

A story we might all be living.

Soon.

Stay sharp. Stay human.

The post What if AI Takes over all Jobs? appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

Following the news. Chasing the next what-if. The next story seed. The next fiction worth writing.

Now?

Now it just feels like the story is writing itself. And it’s not fiction anymore.

It’s real. Too real. We’re staring down something that doesn’t have one name. So I’ll give it mine.

The coming civil wars.

Yes—wars. Plural.

Because this isn’t one nation breaking. It’s a world cracking open. Europe is already smoldering. Protests flood the streets.
Anti-Israel.
Pro-Palestine.
Anti-Ukraine aid.
Anti-West.
Anti-immigration.

And right next to it?
Patriots waving flags.
Nationalists raising voices.
Counter-protests chanting “Take Our Country Back.”

Two sides. Same streets. Same cities. Different truths. And in the middle of it all?

Rising costs.
Empty wallets.
Frustrated families.
Boiling tempers.

People are snapping. Not because they’re evil. Because they’re exhausted.

And every side thinks they’re right. Not just right—they believe they’re the good.

That’s the problem. When you’re certain you’re good, then everyone else? Must be bad.

There’s no middle anymore. No nuance. No listening. It’s us or them.

And media? They’re not helping. They’re not even trying.

The clicks are too good. The rage sells. The division fuels profits. So they amplify it. Spotlight it. Spin it. And feed it to the algorithm gods.

Because that’s where this all lives now—in the feeds.

In the For You pages.

In the filtered firehoses.

Everyone scrolling. Everyone siloed. Everyone fed a version of reality that fits their version of truth.

It’s called cognitive dissonance.

It happens when people hold conflicting beliefs—but instead of confronting them, they double down on the one that makes them feel safest.

It’s not stupidity. It’s survival. But it creates echo chambers. It builds digital tribes. It breeds enemies out of neighbors.

And it’s global.

Australia—yes, quiet, stable Australia—is now on the protest map. Marching in the streets. Fights breaking out. It’s spreading.

Fast.

Faster than anyone expected. Governments are already scrambling. Some choose a side. They have to. You can’t govern everyone when everyone is divided. And when they do? They alienate the other side. That side feels betrayed. Abandoned. Targeted.

They push back.

Governments respond with force. Harsh sentences. Crackdowns. Censorship. It’s supposed to deter unrest. But it does the opposite.

It fuels the fire.

We’re not there yet. But we’re close.

Really close.

Closer than most people want to admit. And the scariest part? Nobody knows what this war will look like.

Not exactly.

It won’t be uniformed armies. It won’t be trenches and tanks.
It’ll be internal.
It’ll be local.
It’ll be chaos.

You’ll see neighbors turn on each other. And still—both sides will believe they’re saving the world.

History repeats. We’ve been here before.
Rome.
The Balkans.
The Arab Spring.

And each time, people said it couldn’t happen to them. Until it did.

Look, maybe I’m wrong.

God, I hope I’m wrong.

But when every sign points to heat…
When every pressure valve is hissing…
When every crowd is shouting…

You can’t just shrug and say, “It’s fine.”

Because it’s not.

This feels like the tipping point.

The world is hot. And people are hotter.

All it takes now is a spark.

I’m just a fiction author.

I see patterns. I chase what-ifs. But this time, the pattern is clear. And the what-if is more like a when.

I pray for cool heads.

I really do.

But right now?

I don’t know if cool heads still exist.

Stay safe. And try to remember that everyone believes they are on the right side of good. Perhaps if we can approach it from that viewpoint, we can get past our differences and prevent the coming civil wars.

Ben

The post The coming civil wars appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

It’s been 12 years since we wrote Kill Them Dead: Genesis, our serialized fiction about a future zombie apocalypse that begins in space.

Not sure what’s more shocking—the 12 years or the zombie story starting on a space station.

Never mind.

Mark and I had a blast writing it.
Mark and I had plans.
Big plans.

We were building the Kill Them Dead universe.
We wanted to continue the series.
To tell the story of Billy, Jason, Miki, Payton, and Lachlan Cook.
To entertain our readers.

But then… life happened.

Our passion project got benched.
For way too long.

I won’t bore you with the reasons. Instead, I’ll just tell you this:

In 2025 we will be Creating the Kill Them Dead World

No, Mark and I didn’t split up.
In fact, we’ve done a lot together since then.

We built a publishing business. Created an app business. Wrote a bunch of other stuff.
Stayed authors trapped in employee bodies. Still unknown authors.

You get it.

But this year, we’ve decided to follow our passion.
To rebuild what we started.
To continue.

And best of all? We’re doing it without expectations.
That’s one of the perks of being an unknown author.

We know the original fans we gathered 12 years ago might not still be around.
And that’s on us.

But we hope that rebuilding the Kill Them Dead universe will ignite a new audience.
That it will draw them to the original story—and into what’s to come.

We love creating worlds, and this one’s got a lot of life left.

So, here’s the plan. We’ll keep you updated as we go. But for now, we’re writing:

Kill Them Dead: The First Event.

This was originally a prologue in the first Kill Them Dead book. Over time, we realized it didn’t add much to the story, so we cut it.

Until now.

(P.S. You can read that original prologue at the end of this article!)

This story kicks off an exciting new angle—where the zombie apocalypse begins.

Wait. Did that last sentence make sense?

Anyway…

Why not just continue the original series where we left off?

Fair question. And no, it’s not because we don’t know how to continue the story.
We know exactly where it’s going. We’ve been planning it for over a decade.

But here’s the thing (and maybe our logic is flawed):
It’s been so long since we wrote the original Kill Them Dead series, and we’ve written over 200 books in other genres under other pen names.

We’re struggling to find that original voice and style.

So, we’d rather start fresh in the Kill Them Dead universe.
Build back up to that voice.
If we ever can.

Creating the Kill Them Dead World – what other ideas are there?

This isn’t a to-do list, but here are some ideas we’re tossing around:

• The First Event (as discussed)—might be a standalone or a series.
• Continue the original timeline.
• Jump to the future, after the world has recovered.
• Focus on zombie hunters.
• Explore the original timeline through new characters in different locations. (We love this idea—so many possibilities.)
• Set a story on one of the other space stations (Phoenix or Caitin). If you’ve read the original prologue, you’ll see the potential.

The possibilities are endless.

Even if these ideas just gather digital dust, it’s better than letting them sit in our heads.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with us. And as promised, here’s the original prologue from the 2013 edition of Kill Them Dead.

Prologue

London, 1599

Historians refer to it simply as “The Event of 1599.”

It appeared from nowhere, and for a brief moment in history, a few Londoners stood in awe and followed a tail of fire as it lit up autumn’s night sky. None of them knew its origin, and words like Armageddon were muttered with a good dose of trepidation and fear. Witnesses would later recall a blast of hot air directly underneath the tail, similar to a warm summer breeze, as it shot from east to west. The head of the fire-tail descended and—for a moment—appeared to be on a collision course with the Tower of London. Some onlookers waited with bated breath for the tower to be struck, while others fled into the perceived safety of their houses. It barely missed the town’s pride, the capitol, but did lock on its final resting place: a tiny, unknown establishment named Quinn’s Tavern.

Moments before a space rock the size of an ox’s head smashed through his wooden tavern roof, Oweyn Quinn served drinks to a couple of regular visitors.

Just like the tavern, Oweyn was rough, uncompromising, and unwashed, with little ambition to grow his business. Truth was, he had no ambition other than to serve his own lust for cheap alcohol, with a preference toward Irish whiskey. Besides the drink, his only love was for his beautiful teen daughter, Catin.

“Come on, Oweyn, pour us another one, will ’ya?” begged Old Man Miles, the tavern’s most loyal customer. Long white hair dangled from underneath a leather hood covering the battle scars that trenched across his neck and cheeks. The scars were sad reminders of his brutal endeavors during the war with France. Old Man Miles would spend most of his drinking time reciting war stories to those sober enough to listen and would end every story by taking off his hood in remembrance of fallen comrades.

“Here,” said Oweyn, as he handed Old Man Miles a wooden cup of whiskey. Oweyn watched as he swallowed the liquid in one quick quaff before slamming the cup down on the bar counter.

The old man wiped his mouth and burped loudly in approval. “Give us another small sample,” he said. “And, by the way, where is that lovely daughter of yours?” An old smile and a couple of rotten teeth completed one ugly picture.

“You know Catin is in the kitchen. You also know you can’t enter. I keep her there, away from the likes of you,” replied Oweyn without encouraging further communication.

“When will you give me her hand in marriage?” scoffed Old Man Miles.

“When you are dead,” Oweyn said and chopped a meat cleaver into the counter next to the old man’s wrist.

“Then we must hurry up,” Old Man Miles wheezed, undeterred by the violent threat of the barkeep’s action.

Oweyn poured the next round without concern or conscience, after which Old Man Miles limped away. He was relieved to return to his own drink, his thoughts drifting to Catin, almost eighteen and eligible for marriage. Regardless of Oweyn’s many flaws, he did keep one promise—to his dying wife—that he would ensure their daughter married into the house of a good, caring man. The only problem was that the good, caring type was virtually nowhere to be found in East London.

His thoughts were interrupted by sudden, hysterical screams at the tavern door. All the patrons, five in total, stood up from their chairs and piled out into the street, which was usually pitch dark at this time of night. The screams grew louder as an orange fireball lit up the dark city, block by block.

“Father?” Oweyn heard Catin’s soft, concerned voice. Her long black hair hung loose around her innocent face.

He stood up and gazed deep into her eyes, her face pale. “Catin, get back in the kitchen,” he ordered. “Now!” He waited until she obliged.

“My good God! It’s the devil himself, I tell ya!” Old Man Miles shouted.

A loud, rumbling whoosh sound passed from directly above as Oweyn made his way toward the window. The rumble grew louder and intensified by the second. Terror filled his nerves, and he sprinted toward the kitchen, but Oweyn only managed a few steps before the roof collapsed on top of him.

Oweyn Quinn could still hear the screams of the people as blackness engulfed him.

“No! Please!”

He listened.

Another cry.

“Please!”

He slowly opened his eyes.

The cry had evolved into a scream, one filled with pure terror.

It was Catin.

Oweyn’s head throbbed worse than any hangover he had ever endured. His legs wobbled in a disoriented attempt to follow the cries. There was something wrong with his eyesight, and after repeated squints, he only managed to identify silhouettes in the smog of embers. Although concerned about his sight, there was nothing wrong with his sense of smell. At first, he could not determine what the strong scent was that assaulted his nostrils. After a while, he realized what it was: flesh. Human flesh.

Within seconds, an animalistic darkness and desire filled Oweyn to such an extent that he had to fight the urge to tear his own skin off. Newfound energy surged through his body, but even that did not relieve him of the screaming noise and the stabbing pain in his brain.

“Daddy! Please! Help me!”

Her cry was clear and desperate. Oweyn moved in the direction of the sound. A form hovered over his girl like a wolf ready to devour its innocent prey. With a single push, he threw Old Man Miles off Catin. His mind wanted to command his mouth to shout, “Get off her!” but he only managed a muffled growl instead.

Catin’s hand touched him. The odor of her youthful body made him quiver while her heartbeat drummed to a frantic rhythm. It subdued the screaming noise, and the stabbing pain subsided.

The sound of footsteps closed in.

Catin’s eyes radiated fear.

Everything went black, and Oweyn no longer had control of his own actions. Without thought or mercy, he yanked Catin’s head sideways and bit down into the comfort of the soft human flesh around her neck.

Catin cried out to her father as blood squirted from her wound, but the thing that tore away at her flesh with its teeth was no longer the man she called father; he no longer recognized her.

Sunlight trickled through the broken roof, and dust particles formed millions of little stars that sparkled as they slowly drifted down toward her tired eyes. Fatigued, Catin’s body slowly came back to life with a medley of pins and needles. Questions raced through her mind, and she wondered how long she had slept—and what on earth had happened.

Catin took time to take in her surroundings and tried to piece together the previous night. The puzzle was hazy. Somewhere between fire, light, and monsters, her memory lapsed. For a moment, she thought about the Book of Revelation. Father McBride loved to preach from the last book of the Bible.

Her body was stretched awkwardly across a wooden beam. Although her aching muscles felt stiff, she determined with relief that nothing was broken, until her hand slid over the open wound between her neck and shoulder. She was horrified as the last memory of the previous evening entered her bruised soul. The man she called her father had devoured her flesh, soulless, with dead, black eyes.

She had no idea as to the whereabouts of her father and wanted to be with him regardless of what he had done. Wetness welled in the corners of her eyes. She tried to contain herself, but within seconds her body shook as she sobbed uncontrollably. Each tear brought back another painful memory, and after what felt like a London summer shower, Catin managed to sit upright. She clutched the wound, and it felt dry, almost sticky. But that was not the strange part. She started to wiggle her fingers deeper into the wound, at first with care, then more forcefully, and she waited—went even deeper—before she realized.

There was no pain.

The open wound, big enough to bleed out even the toughest bloke on the block, was void of any kind of feeling.

“How?” she asked aloud and glanced around the tavern, searching for someone or something to recognize. Distraught and with more sorrow building up from inside her chest, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Their lives, not perfect by any measure of the word, but theirs nonetheless, were reduced to rubble that lay scattered as if an enormous cannonball had exploded inside the small building. There was a massive hole almost in the center of the floor, the concrete shattered into thousands of tiny cracks and loose rock.

A mysterious green light radiated from the floor between single, solid fragments of black rock. Catin held her breath as her eyes locked onto it; she was instantly mesmerized by its beauty. The rock looked utterly out of place, a smooth crust with green strands as thick as hair entwined on the surface.

Catin was drawn to the rock with an intrigue as powerful as the fear that gripped her. For a while, she just admired the beauty and simplicity of the object. Powdered fragments of rock were patterned in a perfect, solid circle, and as she dragged her finger through it, spikes of cold shot into her fingertips. She pulled her hand back and investigated the powder. Carefully, she touched it again, but this time she was ready, and the cold was bearable.

While drawing lines through the powder, she noticed the last solid piece. In a strange anticipation, Catin’s hand reflexively descended toward it. Although beautiful, she was disappointed when her skin met the surface. There was no coldness as with the powder, and it felt like a normal layer of rock. However, she was surprised by its lightness in weight and lifted the stone from the ground, both of her hands forming a protective cup around it.

A sudden shout and the scurried taps of feet broke the rock’s spell on her.

“Come on! Time to get rid of all the filth!” she heard an abrasive voice shouting commands.

As Catin peered for the first time into daylight, terror filled her eyes. The once-quiet cobbled street, with more dangerous corners than anywhere else in London, was now painted scarlet with the blood of mutilated bodies. Most of the unlucky few were coated in royal red army uniforms, but they were not the only victims, and cries filled the air as family members found their dead. Making the scene even more surreal were desperate people who clutched onto the dead like drowning sailors to lifeboats, only to be kicked away by unharmed soldiers who ported the bodies away.

She followed the madness until it ended in the open square a block away from the tavern. There, she witnessed in horror how each of the bodies was decapitated. But it was not only the dead who lost their heads. There was a second guillotine, marked for the living, with a blade sloshing up fresh blood with every hard swoosh!

Could my father be here? she thought and moved into the open clearing. The stench of death hung thick in the air, fueled by each bone-crushing swat of the guillotines.

She brought the rock toward her chest with shaking hands, just as a large hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled back her petite body.

“We have another one!”

“What is happening?” she asked in fear but received only silence. Catin was led farther into the open, and strength drained from her body when she realized she was being forced toward the guillotines. Her knees buckled under the tremble of fear, and she fell forward.

“Up!”

“Please, I just…”

The kick threw her forward. “I said up with you, monster!”

Monster? She repeated the word in silence, afraid of another blow. Her body found some strength, and she managed to pull herself up. Instinctively, she searched for salvation, someone to save her.

“Please, God, please,” she uttered before everything became a daze.

Just left of the guillotine lay the stripped and naked bodies of her father and Old Man Miles. They rested together, decapitated and drenched in blood, hacked to shreds.

Spasms of vomit left her body.

Catin stumbled forward, and as she slammed onto the ground, the rock fell from her hands. It rolled into the sunlight and emitted a green glow.

Everything and everyone stopped their activity to witness the phenomenon.

“Bring the rock to me,” a voice packed with authority broke through the stunned silence. “And bring me the young one, too.”

“Hand me the rock.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” a soldier answered and stretched out the rock toward Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen. The royal family had been hidden inside a carriage throughout the entire incident, witnessing the carnage of death from afar as if they were enjoying one of the many Shakespearean plays so popular in London.

“Were you bitten?” the Queen directed the question toward Catin without taking her eyes from the stone.

“She was, Your Majesty.”

“Did I ask you? Away from me!”

Catin had no idea how to answer. Her eyes glanced around frantically, but she realized that the possibility of escape was as rare as the rock. Red figures in uniforms covered every conceivable exit.

“I asked, were you bitten, child?”

Catin dropped to her knees. “Please,” she begged. “There is nothing wrong with me!”

Queen Elizabeth looked at the rock and gave an approving nod as a smile slid across her face. “Take her head,” she said.

The death sentence was soft, unremorseful, and final. Surges of uncontrollable fear pumped through Catin’s body, and wetness trickled down her legs when a soldier dragged her by the arm and pulled her toward the guillotine. Her feet kicked while her free hand swatted, but to no avail.

“Please don’t do this,” Catin begged again and glanced at the soldier.

He tugged at her arm.

Catin closed her eyes.

The guard yanked her forward.

She twisted her wrist and grabbed hold of the guard’s arm.

“What the…?”

With one hard jerk, she ripped the guard’s arm from his body.

He screamed out in pain.

How is this possible?

Frantic screams echoed from the gathered crowd.

What’s happening to me?

“Get the monster!” a guard shouted.

Catin stood up and felt a surge of power and energy run through her body.

It felt magnificent.

Blurry red figures stormed her, and Catin’s instinctive feeling was to jump. She soared through the air, high over the heads of the astonished soldiers, and landed somewhere behind them.

The guards attacked, and without effort, Catin swatted away one soldier after the other. Her fingers transformed into claws, and the smell of fresh blood sent her into a frenzy. She roared loudly at each man she flung away. Some died on impact with crushed skulls, while others sustained critical wounds.

Catin never felt more alive.

Once satisfied that all the guards were subdued, she ran.

She ran three blocks, faster than any horse would have been able to carry her, when her body suddenly bent down on all fours. She did not question it. Power and speed pumped through her body as she ran on all fours through the city.

Catin Quinn disappeared into a nearby forest.

She was never seen again.

The post Creating the Kill Them Dead World appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

1. Boundless Creativity: World-building allows writers to imagine unique universes, breaking free from real-world constraints to explore new ideas and “what ifs.”
2. Rich Details Add Depth: Small details like culture, history, and environment breathe life into fictional worlds, making them immersive for readers.
3. Collaborative Imagination: Writers and readers engage together in imagining and interpreting the world, enhancing connection and engagement.
4. Challenges Fuel Innovation: Overcoming world-building challenges sparks creativity and helps writers explore richer narratives.
5. Inspiration for Stories: A well-built world can inspire multiple stories, prequels, sequels, and spin-offs, offering endless storytelling possibilities.
6. Emotional Fulfillment: Writers form deep emotional connections to their creations, finding joy in sharing and seeing others enjoy their worlds.

World-building combines imagination, problem-solving, and emotional connection to create memorable and compelling stories.

Fictional world-building is one of the most exciting aspects of storytelling. It allows writers to shape unique universes, explore endless possibilities, and captivate audiences with immersive experiences. Whether it is the rich detail of Tolkien’s Middle-earth or the futuristic scope of Asimov’s Foundation or our very own Zombie World called Kill Them Dead, creating fictional worlds can be both challenging and deeply rewarding. This article explores why world-building is so enjoyable, breaking down the creative and imaginative processes that go into crafting fictional settings.

What is World-Building in Fiction?

World-building is the process of creating the setting in which a story takes place. This includes the geography, culture, laws, history, and even the physics of a fictional universe. The level of detail depends on the story’s needs. For some narratives, such as character-driven dramas, world-building may be minimal. For others, particularly in genres like fantasy or science fiction, it can form the backbone of the story.

World-building gives writers (even unknown authors) the freedom to imagine anything, whether that means designing alien ecosystems, magical kingdoms, or dystopian futures. This flexibility is what makes the process so fun and appealing.

The Joy of Creative Freedom

PS: this is The Fun in Creating Worlds for Fiction for me – Ben Finn

Creating a fictional world is like holding a blank canvas and an infinite palette of ideas. Writers can decide what their world looks like, how it works, and who inhabits it. This creative freedom is a key reason world-building is enjoyable.

For instance, an author writing a fantasy novel might design a kingdom where gravity works differently, or where music holds magical power. They could invent creatures that breathe fire or plants that glow in the dark. These unique elements not only make the process enjoyable but also inspire the plot and characters.

The absence of rules from the real world means writers can invent solutions to their own questions. What if humans lived underwater? What if time moved backward? By exploring “what ifs,” writers engage in playful speculation that keeps the creative process exciting.

Building Depth Through Details

Another aspect of world-building that makes it enjoyable is the opportunity to create depth. Details bring a fictional world to life and make it feel real to readers. This process is like piecing together a puzzle, where every detail adds a new layer.

Writers often find joy in creating the little things—unique customs, languages, or legends that exist within their world. For example, J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series has countless small details, like the rules of Quidditch or the recipes for magical potions. These elements not only enrich the story but also provide a sense of immersion for the reader.

The fun lies in imagining how these details influence the characters and plot. For instance, a writer might create a desert civilization where water is so rare that it is treated as currency. How would that shape the society’s values or conflicts? Questions like these lead to exciting storytelling possibilities.

Collaboration with the Reader’s Imagination

Part of the fun in creating fictional worlds comes from knowing that readers will engage with and expand on the ideas presented. When writers introduce new concepts, they invite readers to visualize and interpret those worlds.

For instance, a science fiction author might describe an alien species with blue skin and a hive-mind intelligence. While the author provides the outline, readers fill in the gaps, imagining how these aliens speak, move, or interact. This collaboration between writer and reader adds an interactive dimension to storytelling.

This shared act of imagination creates a sense of connection. Readers often feel more invested in stories when they can picture the world vividly, and writers take pleasure in sparking that engagement.

Overcoming Challenges in World-Building

World-building isn’t always easy, but the challenges are part of the fun. Writers must balance creativity with logic, ensuring that their world feels believable. If a fictional society uses flying cars, for example, writers need to consider how this technology affects daily life, city planning, and even the economy.

These challenges often push writers to think critically and explore ideas in greater depth. The problem-solving aspect of world-building is both stimulating and rewarding. As authors work through these challenges, they often discover unexpected plot twists or character motivations that enrich their stories.

Inspiring New Stories

One of the most exciting aspects of world-building is its potential to inspire new stories. A well-crafted world can be a springboard for multiple narratives, spanning generations or even genres.

For example, George Lucas’s Star Wars universe is so richly detailed that it has inspired countless spin-offs, including movies, TV shows, books, and games. Each new story adds layers to the universe, making it feel even more alive.

The fun here lies in exploring new angles and perspectives. A writer might start with a single protagonist but later decide to explore the experiences of a secondary character. Alternatively, they might write prequels or sequels that reveal hidden facets of the world. This endless potential keeps the creative process fresh and engaging.

Sharing Your World with Others

World-building is also a social activity. Writers often enjoy sharing their creations with others, whether through storytelling, illustrations, or even role-playing games. Communities of fans and creators can form around a shared love of a fictional universe, creating a sense of camaraderie.

For instance, tabletop role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons allow players to build worlds collaboratively. Game masters create settings and rules, while players invent characters and make decisions that shape the story. This shared creativity fosters a sense of community and adds to the enjoyment of world-building.

Similarly, writers who share their worlds online, through blogs or social media, often receive feedback and ideas from readers. This interaction can be incredibly fulfilling and might even inspire new directions for the story.

The Emotional Connection

Finally, creating fictional worlds is fun because of the emotional connection writers develop with their creations. As they build their worlds, writers often feel a sense of ownership and pride. The process of imagining and refining a world can be deeply personal, reflecting the writer’s values, dreams, and fears.

This emotional investment makes the act of writing more meaningful. When readers connect with the world and its characters, it validates the writer’s effort and creativity. Knowing that others find joy in the world they’ve created is one of the most rewarding aspects of being a storyteller.

Conclusion

World-building is an endlessly enjoyable aspect of writing fiction. It combines imagination, creativity, and problem-solving to craft settings that captivate readers and inspire new stories. From designing unique cultures to solving narrative challenges, every step of the process offers opportunities for discovery and fun.

Ultimately, the joy of creating fictional worlds lies in the freedom to imagine something new, the satisfaction of building depth, and the thrill of sharing those creations with others. Whether you’re writing a fantasy epic, a sci-fi thriller, or a small-town drama, the process of world-building can transform your story into something unforgettable.

PS: I hope you find The Fun in Creating Worlds for Fiction for yourself and explore this in more depth.

Happy writing

Ben

The post The Fun in Creating Worlds for Fiction appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

Listen, I get it. It’s been drilled into us through every blog, book, course, and success story about writing—that one of the keys to success, if not the main one, is to write every day.

Every. Single. Day.

Without fail.

I understand that many of the greats, like one of my personal heroes, Stephen King, advocate for this daily writing routine. If memory serves me right—yes, I’m getting old!—he mentions it in On Writing. Grab yourself a copy, read it, and feel free to close this blog. After all, he’s a wildly successful author.

But if you’re still here, fantastic! I admire the rebel in you.

Now, I don’t believe you should write every day, especially if that’s not your metaphorical cup of tea. I’d even bet my last few cents (it is month-end, after all) that if research were done on the correlation between writing frequency and success, it would show no clear link.

That said, here are my top three reasons why you should not write every day.

And, yes, I know Google will give you countless different viewpoints. These, however, are mine.

1 – Unnecessary pressure

Life happens.

Or life is happening. Life is life…da,da,dadada…

For most of us unknown authors (Yes currently a movement of one – me), writing isn’t our full-time gig. We have a mountain of other commitments: a day job, possibly a family, other interests, or just things that demand our attention.

Yet, we still love writing. We love crafting stories or even nonfiction. Now, to add a daily writing habit on top of everything else? It just creates pressure—unnecessary pressure that, for me at least, led to rapidly falling out of love with the process of writing. Writing became something I had to do rather than something I wanted to do.

I’ve never felt that writing should be a chore. I don’t subscribe to the “tortured writer” narrative—the bleeding over the keyboard, the battle with the blank page. For me, writing has always been fun, and it should stay that way.

I understand the importance of goal-setting, wanting to complete something within a specific timeframe. But here’s an idea: why not look at it differently? Why not set aside a few solid hours over the weekend instead of forcing yourself to write every single day?

2 – Writing More Does Not Guarantee Success

In this age of rapid releases, writing fast-paced series, and catering to your audience’s constant demand for new material, it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that more writing equals more success.

For some, it might.

For most, it doesn’t.

Quality always trumps quantity. Countless authors—yes, even in the self-published world—write and release only a few books a year, or even just one, and still rake in the sales.

Sure, some of these authors might write every day, but if your sole motivation to do so is to churn out volume or hit an arbitrary daily word count, you may be veering off track. Success in writing isn’t a numbers game—it’s about producing something meaningful, something worth reading.

3 – It Kills Creativity

Between 2013 and 2015, my business partner, a few fellow writers, and I managed to publish around 200 books of varying lengths. The money was great. But the constant grind of writing to feed the publishing beast turned what I once loved into a mechanical, joyless task.

By the end of 2016, I was burned out.

My creativity? Gone.

What once was my dream job became something I couldn’t physically bring myself to do anymore.

That burnout lasted for seven long years. Sure, I had moments of inspiration here and there—half-finished manuscripts cluttered with multiple Chapter Ones—but the creative spark was snuffed out.

Too much of a good thing can be damaging in the long run.

So, What Should You Do?

If writing every day works for you, then by all means, keep at it. Just remember, like with exercise, your creative muscles need time to rest and recover. Take breaks. Skip a day. Take a week off now and then.

If writing every day isn’t your thing, that’s perfectly fine too. Write when the inspiration hits, or if you need more structure, schedule writing sessions balanced with time to rest and recharge.

We’re all adults here, and writing should be enjoyable. I simply don’t buy into the “blood, sweat, and tears” mantra that some writers espouse. Writing is about creating worlds, characters, and amazing stories. If pushing yourself to write every day takes away from the fun, then it’s time to reevaluate your approach.

Until next time.

Happy writing,
Ben

The post 3 Reasons why you should not write every day appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

The Perks of Being an Unknown Author (Yes, They Exist!)

We’ve all had the fantasy.

The one where your book hits the shelves, blows up overnight, and suddenly you’re a literary celebrity sipping cocktails with Stephen King.

Sounds cool, sure, but what about the rest of us? The unknown authors who are quietly tapping away at their keyboards, dreaming in our own small corners of the universe?

The unknown author still juggling a day job?

The unknown author who feels ashamed for not writing every single day. Not figuring out social media or TikTok.

Struggling to dance on a reel, holding your book in one hand and your daughter in the other.

(True story)

O my good word…

Relax take a deep breath.

Turns out, not being famous is actually a blessing. No, seriously.

1. You Control Your Narrative

Being an unknown author gives you one thing every big-name author loses: control.

You’re the boss of your stories, your schedule, your entire creative journey. You don’t have an agent breathing down your neck or a massive fan base demanding the next release. You get to write for yourself, set your own rules, and evolve at your own pace.

You don’t have to write to “market”.

Your market might even be only a few people.

Who cares.

And guess what? Nobody’s going to call you out for “ruining” your own series or harass you on social media about plot points. You’re free to craft your story the way you want, not the way someone else expects.

2. Experiment Without Pressure

Do you want to mix genres, try something wild, or write a collection of haikus about llamas? Go for it! No one’s holding you back. When you’re an unknown author, the freedom to explore and experiment is infinite. You can make mistakes, test out new writing styles, and throw wild ideas at the wall to see what sticks—all without judgment.

This is where some of the most exciting and creative work can happen. Being anonymous means you don’t have to cater to a pre-existing audience or “brand.” You get to find your voice, and that’s where the magic begins.

3. You Can Fail in Private

Falling flat on your face isn’t so bad when no one’s watching. In fact, it’s a gift. Best-selling authors might get publicly skewered for a flop, but you? You can experiment, fail, and grow—all under the radar. That’s the beauty of obscurity. It gives you a safe space to fail forward without the world taking notice.

And every misstep becomes a lesson that sharpens your craft. You won’t get roasted in reviews or see your name trending on Twitter for a misfire. Just pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going.

4. Success is Yours to Define

Famous authors live under a microscope, and they’re often judged by external metrics: sales, awards, fan feedback. But as an unknown author, success is whatever you decide it is. It could be as simple as finishing your manuscript or getting that first review from a stranger who genuinely loves your work.

Your journey doesn’t have to fit into anyone’s box. You’re not chasing traditional markers of success, and that’s liberating. The only opinion that matters here is yours.

5. No Pressure, Just Passion

Writing should be about the passion, right? If you’ve ever wanted to go back to the time when you wrote purely for the joy of it, congratulations—you’re already there. When no one knows who you are, you’re not trying to meet anyone’s expectations but your own.

You can embrace the process, bask in the creativity, and write stories that ignite your soul. It’s about the love for the craft, not the hustle for recognition. And honestly? That’s the dream.

Final Thoughts

Of course there are more than Five Advantages of being an Unknown Author. However, being unknown isn’t a disadvantage—it’s a superpower.

At least in my super humble unknown opinion.

You have freedom, control, and the chance to experiment without the weight of expectations. You get to enjoy writing for what it is, without the noise that comes with fame.

So, take a deep breath, lean into where you are, and keep going. The world may not know your name yet, but you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing—writing stories that matter to you.

And that is the real victory.

No blog will be without a shameless self-promotion. I will do two if you don’t mind. If you found that this article resonated with you in your writing journey then join my mailing list. I will even throw in Kill them Dead book1 for free. It is just a way to let you know what’s going on and hopefully, we can connect. Join the mailing list here.

Of course, if you are just a reader and want to read our Zombie Apocalypse then read it here for free. No need to join any old list!

Take care and happy writing and/or reading

Ben

The post Five Advantages of being an Unknown Author appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

I bet not many aspiring authors think about this.

We’ve been conditioned to see authorship only through the lens of success. From rapid releases to publishing deals, from bestseller lists to building a social media following. From buying courses on book advertising to spending hours upon hours on YouTube, hunting for the next big breakthrough.

But here’s the thing: we don’t often ask ourselves, “What if I don’t become a bestseller? What if no one really knows my name? Can I still find fulfillment in this journey?”

I apologize if my rambling seems disjointed at this point, but I promise, there’s a reason I’m saying all this.

The reality is, authorship—especially for indie writers—is tough. For every success story you see in groups like 20BooksTo50k (which I love, by the way, and you should definitely join if you haven’t), there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of “lurkers” quietly dreaming that maybe one day, they’ll get their turn.

The truth is, many won’t. That’s life. But instead of letting that crush your dreams, I’m here to tell you: there’s another way to look at this.

And no, my aim isn’t to crush your dreams. It’s to offer you an alternative: to embrace the idea of being an unknown author. To understand why it’s not just okay to be unknown—it can be a gift.

Still with me?

Great.

Why I am an Unknown Author

I won’t drag you through my entire journey, but I think some background might help give you perspective.

I started publishing on Kindle in 2011—part of the early wave of indie authors jumping into the gold rush.

I threw myself into it, learning everything I could, writing, publishing, repeating.

In 2013, Mark and I co-wrote a zombie apocalypse science fiction series called Kill Them Dead. It wasn’t a smash hit, but over the last 11 years, we’ve made about $5,000 from it.

We didn’t stop there. Between us, we published nearly 200 titles—mostly short fiction—under various pen names. We were having fun, even calling them “Author Brands” back in the day.

Since then, we’ve made just over $100k from all our books combined. A modest amount, and most of it—around 80%—came between 2013 and 2016.

In 2015, I lost my job. That’s when we decided to take the leap into full-time writing. But by late 2016, it all came crashing down. I had to find work again, and I was burnt out. Financially stressed. Mark went through a divorce. The joy of writing disappeared. Stories dried up.

In 2017, I re-entered the corporate world, and that’s where I still find myself today. It wasn’t what I had envisioned, but it was necessary.

Did we make mistakes? Of course.

Did we try everything? Maybe not.

But here’s the twist: stepping away from the dream of full-time authorship may have been the best move I ever made.

Because…

The Birth of the Unknown Author

When I lost my job in 2015, I swore to myself that I’d never work for someone else again. And yet, here I am—back in the corporate world, running the same hamster wheel I thought I’d left behind.

But something interesting happened during the years I wasn’t actively writing.

Even though I wasn’t publishing new work or maintaining an email list, sales still trickled in. Month after month. Year after year.

Nothing life-changing. Not enough to quit my day job or buy something extravagant. But still, those books we published a decade ago continued to sell, completely on their own.

And that’s when I realized the power of being an unknown author.

It wasn’t about the name on the cover. It was about the freedom that came with anonymity.

The Power of Anonymity

Here’s the beauty of being an unknown author: there are zero expectations.

No pressure from fans. No pressure from the industry. And most importantly, no pressure from myself.

If I decide not to write today? That’s okay.

If I feel like writing a short story under a new pen name just to experiment? That’s okay too.

There’s no rush. No need to rapidly release. No fear of AI taking over. No need for beta readers, reviews, social calendars, or email lists.

I don’t have to obsess over every piece of advice about how “KDP is dying” or whether my book funnel is optimized. I’m not forking out cash for advertising, fancy covers, or expensive editing packages.

I’m not writing to market. I’m writing for me.

And best of all, there’s no financial pressure. Writing is no longer my only source of income, so there’s no stress attached to it.

I’ve rediscovered the joy of writing, at my own pace, on my own terms.

Will I Stay Unknown Forever?

As I write this, I’m 47 years old.

If you’d told my 30-year-old self that I’d still be in a corporate job at this age, he’d be furious. Back then, I dreamed of being a famous author, and of never working for someone else again.

I get it. That was me.

And yes, I still dislike my day job—just like most people. But here’s the secret: by the end of 2016, I hated being a full-time author too. Perspective changes everything.

Dreams aren’t easy, and they’re worth chasing, but they also evolve.

I still write. I still publish. But now I do it stress-free.

Every month, when I see my royalty reports—even if they dip or rise ever so slightly—I still feel the excitement of being an author.

So, will I change my mind about being an unknown author one day? Maybe. Who knows?

For now, I’m enjoying the quiet, anonymous process.

It’s strange, isn’t it? In my corporate job, I’m always pushing, scaling, and hustling. But when it comes to my writing, I’ve chosen to keep it private, to not turn it into a “business.”

Could that change? Perhaps.

But that’s the best part of being an unknown author.

All the power is in your hands.

You decide how to approach it.

Final Thoughts

This isn’t about crushing anyone’s dreams. If you want to be a full-time indie or traditionally published author, go for it! There are so many resources and success stories out there.

But for those of you who are still dreaming, still lurking in the background, remember: there’s immense freedom in being unknown.

Here’s to everyone who writes!

PS: Ok so the announcement is simply this. I will bring out more blog posts about being an unknown author and I am actively writing a book about the topic. If this resonates with you then click here to stay informed on my mailing list. You will also get a cool free book!

The post Why it is more than okay to be an unknown author appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

And no, I am not a full-time author.

And no, I have not made millions of dollars with my writing.

And yes, that might make you wonder…

Old Ben should have followed the “terrible writing and publishing advice”

Good statement.

If I had followed the writing and publishing advice mentioned below, I would have made it by now.

And believe me, something I have thought of.

Many times.

But, looking back at my “career” – if you can call it that – I would have not been in a better position. In fact, I believe I would have burned money.

Something I can’t afford to do.

Perhaps you can relate?

So what is my list of terrible writing and publishing advice?

Editorial and developmental editing

Very few.

Read it again.

Very, very, very few, self-published authors make enough sales with their books to cover the expenses.

Against popular Facebook group claims that everyone is making a killing from their writing.

And these expenses can add up very quickly.

From writing software, to book covers to editing…to editing.

You can easily find yourself out of a few thousand dollars before you hit publish on KDP.

Now, do not misunderstand what I am trying to say here. You should always, always, always, write, produce and publish the BEST quality book you can.

…but if you can afford it…

And many dreams get squashed by finances or the lack thereof.

Now why do I believe that editorial and developmental editing is terrible writing and publishing advice?

Well, you should have guessed it by now…

Cost.

I have not asked for a recent quote, but back around 2015/16 I got a quote for $3000 for full editing and developmental editing for our book Kill Them Dead. We first published in 2013 and by 2015 we made around $500 in total sales.

The number of copies or page reads we need to just break even is not worth it.

The juice is not worth the squeeze.

Also, adding “Now developmental edited” to our marketing is not really a hook that will make potential readers excited.

I love the way Dean Wesley Smith puts it. I am paraphrasing here but he is of the opinion that no editor knows your story, can better it, and should only if you can afford to get them to run a basic spelling, grammar, and punctuation edit.

You can read all his wonderful advice from his blog here.

You have to go Audio

I am not going to spend too much time on this one.

Same as the previous terrible writing and publishing advice, this is simply too costly.

Especially if you are starting out.

An audiobook production, regardless of how hot it is and popular it is, is simply out of reach for most authors.

Again you will rarely be profitable.

You have to run ads

Okay, some quick background.

My day job is being a digital marketing specialist and consultant. Ok sure my non-penname self.

And, I understand the power of digital marketing.

I understand fully that you secure reach. Or eyeballs on your products.

I have also tested it.

The problem is this…

Very few people buy directly from an advert.

Yes the gurus, will argue this (they need to sell their courses). And sure there are authors with successful advertising, but that is only once you are established, with a back catalog of books.

Unknown author, without reviews, raw going for advertising is NOT going to work.

So what will be some good writing and publishing advice?

We all love the shiny object.

The new thing.

The new channel. The new way of reaching readers.

And we get so invested in it.

Smart marketers (calling themselves authorpreneurs) leap onto this and create courses.

Because our author’s dream – and mine is also there – is to write full-time. We want it so bad that we won’t hesitate to buy every book, watch every video, and even fork out money we don’t have to get our hands on a magical course.

It is a sick cycle.

One that will prevent you from doing the one thing you should be doing.

Write.

Just write.

Write what excites you.

Write what you will want to read.

Write.

One book after another.

Get the work done.

Build up a backlog of books.

And then create yourself an author platform.

It might be a blog or a social channel. But be there. Be authentic. Share your journey.

And over enough time you will start seeing a return.

You will start getting sales.

It might be modest at best.

But over time it will compound.

I get it.

Surely it cannot be this simple? There has to be a magic bean somewhere.

Nope. Most things in life, like losing weight, for example, are actually simple.

But if you do not have the discipline to keep going, then no matter how many pieces of so-called advice you implement it will not move the needle.

See terrible writing and publishing advice is all over the internet.

And over the years I have found it to be time eaters. It takes you away from writing.

Hope this help.

Give me a follow on Twitter or X as it is called now. (my only social profile)

The post Terrible Writing and Publishing Advice appeared first on Kill Them Dead.

When I was a boy we lived through the cold war.

Lived through sporadic, unjustified, and cruel Wars all over the world.

And the Second World War was history, something we learned at school. Or something you listened to if you had a grandparent who lived through it.

But at all it was at arm’s length.

War was cruel, but it did not hit home unless you had someone who served.

Now, I always loved war stories.

The fiction part of war stories.

I have been fascinated by it since I can remember.

Also, why I wanted to start a new story universe that plays out in a World War Three Setting. (Check out my quick first short story here)

Today I am not so sure.

Because if I look past the fiction, the great stories, the events currently unfolding in front of our TV Screens, Social feeds, and everything in between, is real.

Cruel.

Ananmalistic.

Horrible.

And real.

Now, I am not into any form of politics. Any form of sides.

And this is not what this musing is all about.

Hoever I must say, as a father and husband, my heart, prayers and thoughts go to all the parents, kids and innocent victims, who unnecessarily died, who are unnecessarily living in fear and desperation in Israel and Gaza.

I can’t begin to imagine what they are feeling.

And that goes for both sides.

There is innocence on both sides.

Also, my hope and anger (yes weird combination) is aimed at the leaders on both sides.

Hope they will see the errors of their ways and rectify things.

Anger that this happened. Regardless of history, regardless of who is “right”. You are adults.

And as the medic Eugene said in Band of Brothers.

“You ought to know better!”

We can only hope and pray this ends soon. With a resolution. Otherwise, we might truly be heading to World War Three.

Is World War Three around the corner?

Now, taking the horror of what we have been seeing to the one side and also not falling into conspiracy theory traps, could it actually happen?

Could we actually see and live through World War Three?

And would it be an actual full-blown global conflict?

I guess only time will tell. And although I have always loved war stories, I hope that this will not escalate any further.

That said, here are just some of my thoughts on this.

Will the Israel/Gaza conflict be the start of World War Three?

Personally, I don’t think so.

At least not at face value.

Regardless of how horrible the situation is, this has been a regional conflict for literally thousands of years.

And again, if we can muster the courage to see past the horrific images and perhaps not listen to everyone’s (especially the mainstream media’s) opinion on it all, we would see history just repeating itself.

That brings a question.

Are we this horrified because of the actual event? Or is it because with Social Media we now have a raw front seat?

I don’t have the answer. Just wondering.

Then again we might ask, but why not the Ukraine and Russia conflict? Why are we now asking the question about a regional, historical conflict, but not the same as what is happening in Europe?

Again a great question.

And in my humble geopolitical opinion a war that had more probability of escalating to World War Three.

The ultimate truth is we don’t really know.

But could both these wars not start World War Three?

Interesting question.

With Russia being a historical ally of Palestine and the West being historically aligned with Israel, it might be the secret ingredient for a worldwide conflict.

East against West.

With a whole lot of middle countries.

And that is where it will most probably play out

Yes in this hypothetical scenario, World War Three, will probably play out in the Middle East and central Europe.

Where the West and the East will meet.

Many countries will voice support for one or the other, without engaging in the War.

What about Nukes?

Well, we never know.

I would like to believe that humans are smarter than that.

I would also like to believe that humans are no longer capable of the horrific actions of the past few days.

And I would like to believe that we, collectively can get past whatever stupid disputes we have.

But, we don’t have a great track record, do we?

And so, the moment someone feels that World War Three is turning against them, they might be forced to nuke their enemy.

I am just a struggling writer.

What do I know?

And by the content above you might agree, very little.

That is perfectly ok.

That said, stay safe.

Pray to whoever you pray that this will end. That the suffering of innocent lives will end and that we can find a peaceful way forward.

The post World War Three: Are we moving closer than ever? appeared first on Kill Them Dead.