One of the great things about being an author is the being able to kill people and never face any legal consequences. I expect I’m not the only person who looks around at the rest of humanity every now and then and thinks “dear gods, we are a cancerous growth and something must be done about us!”
As an author, I can have a nice big apocalypse from the safety of my own writing space. I have lavished hours of thought and attention on imagining how I want civilization to end its current incarnation. My most recent novel, When We Are Vanished, is to no small degree, me having my cathartic apocalypse. I’m not an especially bloodthirsty person, and I don’t enjoy reading or writing long gore scenes, so I wanted it clean. The title is something of a giveaway here, because in my perfect apocalypse, people just vanish, melting away like morning mist as the sun comes up. Streets empty of inhabitants, and in their absence, new forests grow up. Apathy, in case you were wondering, is the main reason for this disintegration.
One of the standards of dystopian fiction is the scenario of dwindling resources and the last humans fighting desperate battles over the stuff. I never was much of a fan of owning stuff, so in this setting I’ve got an excess of resources and very few people trying to use them. In this future, you can have as big a house as you want (there are so many empty ones) it’s just a case of how much work you want to do keeping it warm and keeping the trees out. If you can work out how to fuel a car, you can have a car. There is a steam car, the last remaining survivor from my original plan to do this as a more overtly Steampunk setup.
My apocalypse is green. It requires people to knit jumpers and keep goats, although I promise you there’s nothing cute about where that side of things goes. The goat is a total git. I may also have had a ‘wicker man’ moment – not an actual wicker man, you understand, just something of the vibe.
Where I live there are a fair few cottages dotted about the landscape that have become ruins. Old mill sites, more recently abandoned industrial buildings too. Some take a fair bit of spotting. Nature is reclaiming them, and in the normal scheme of things it does not take the plants long to start overrunning our abandoned mess and re-greening. Lost mediaeval villages are little more than bumps in fields. Signs of us disappear at a pleasing speed, when we are vanished.
More about the book here – http://snowbooks.com/products/62388?variant=5508640705