There is something wrong with me. Monday, December First, I spent ten hours completing the rough draft of 'Suicide Soda'. As some of you may know, I was a willing participant of the National November Writing Month (affectionately known as NaNovWriMo), and I wanted to get the book done, albeit a day late. The goal was clawing at me like a loving zombie with raccoon-like nails.
And now, rather than sit back and wait until November to write the next novel, that loving zombie is whispering into my ear ideas for my next series of young adult novels.
I'm an addict, aren't I? Where is that loving Intervention crew of friends and family to help me stop? Are they just going to stand by and let the Undead drool on my cheek with his fowl breath and rotten teeth? Is my team of supportive writing friends just a bunch of inebriated enablers?
And why didn't I wind up with a normal addiction, like Crack, or chardonnay, or chewing my hair? At least those wouldn't make me a social outcast. I mean, who wants to hang out with the writer? All we do is ask questions to get story ideas and ignore people when we're working. Boring.
I also want to share with you my story idea, but I have a superstition about talking about plots before I've written them: if I let go of the idea, it will drift away like a helium balloon and be captured by another writer, before I've even typed a word. And this also goes with why I HAVE to start writing it. If I don't start, someone in the world with telepathic abilities will read my mind and steal my fabulous story. In order for me to avoid this catastrophe, I HAVE to start writing NOW!
Did you have any idea writers were so crazy? Because, I think we all, at some level, have these ideas. I mean, it's not like we choose to write. It's more like the ideas come from that writer-loving Zombie and we are forced to type out the story to avoid being eaten by the Undead.
Okay, the zombie is now chewing on my ear, so I have to go write an outline. Eww, zombie spit is so gross.
Heather Leigh, friend of Zombies
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