I never got the fascination with zombies. Not really. I was always a vampire girl, back before vampires were mainstream and in your face like they are now. My first novel? It isn’t a vampire novel, but it is a novel where one of the characters happens to be a vampire. Big difference. But still, although I like the characters and think that it’s definitely publishable, I’m so tired of vampires that I’m just going to let it sit for a while. Thanks for taking something that I love and over saturating me with it, media. Skulls and pirates, too.
Anyway, I digress.
My brother in law is a big zombie fan. Huge. He was rattling off books and movies faster than I could keep up, and I can’t quite wrap my brain around them. (Pun totally intended.)
“Why are they scary?” I asked him. “They just shamble around with parts falling off. They’re unintelligent. What’s frightening about a stupid monster?”
He said that it isn’t the shambling that is frightening. It’s the idea of waking up and being the only one left. Of looking around and seeing that society as you knew it changed. And when I think about it, that is frightening.
I did write a zombie story (coming out sometime in Arkham Tales) and this zombie poem (coming out in Poems of the Dead), but they both had to do with ethics more than horror. Maybe I’ll try it again sometime. It could be fun.
The Illiterati are disappearing this weekend into our interdimensional wormhole. Seriously, we’re going on a retreat. How awesome is that? It feels like heaven. I’m absolutely anticipating it. Oh yeah, and there will be karaoke.
Pieces out: 34