WOW

My new years resolution (that I came up with after New Years) about blogging more regularly has ALREADY FAILED. Congratulations, me. Wow. But in my defense, and I actually have one I swear, I’ve been at this internship for almost exactly a week and I’m working basically from 7am-9:30pm every single day, no exceptions. Well, today is an exception because it’s Saturday and the middle of the conference and Becci and I drove a group of people to Canon Beach for a few hours. We are currently holed up in a cute little coffee shop called Bella Espresso doing… stuff. I dunno what Becci is doing actually but I’m working on my novel and, now, blogging.

My internship so far has been amazing. Some of the craft talks are a little boring, and some don’t apply to me, but being constantly surrounded by writers is one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged in a community more. Of course, my overwhelming awkwardness has made “networking” difficult, but I swear to God Kelly I am trying. I really am. I am just not naturally good at talking to people I don’t know. Like, at all.

Regardless, the time spent in craft talks that aren’t relevant or interesting to me have produced a rough, ROUGH draft of a zombie story I’m writing for advanced fiction next semester. I really don’t think in short story formats, because the story is already three pages too long and that’s not including the various outline points I just deleted because I was running out of space.

I know zombies are starting to get tiresome, but hear me out. If I can get better at planning for SHORT fiction, I would really like to do a series of short stories called “Casual Encounters” where my characters are just super casual about the supernatural. For example, last year I wrote a short story (that at one point was 39 pages) called Super, where my protagonist, a normal girl from California, is the roommate of three superheroes. Not once is she fazed by the fact that superheroes exist; instead, her concern is that they never help out around the house and they never offer intelligent conversation. The same goes for my latest protagonist, Alison Sumner.

Alison grew up during the zombie apocalypse, so nightly patrols and twenty-foot walls have never fazed her. Instead of desperately trying to survive in a collapsing society, all Alison really wants is a boyfriend. Along the way she meets some unfortunate roadblocks, mostly due to the zombie apocalypse, but these roadblocks are no more of consequence than any other misfortune during a romantic comedy.

I really like where these stories are going, because in every supernatural TV show or novel someone’s always like “WHAT, VAMPIRES ARE REAL?!?” and that bothers me. Just once I’d like Bella to take one look at Edward when she meets him in that biology class and have this conversation:

“You kinda look like a vampire, anyone ever tell you that?” Bella bites her lip and raises an eyebrow, though her expression is, as always, unchanged.

Edward looks constipated. “You know, I get that a lot.”

“So are you?” More lip biting from Bella, for no apparent reason.

“Am I what?” Edward looks to the door as if he wants to escape to relieve his constipation.

“A vampire. It’s totally cool if you are, I’m actually incredibly delusional and near-death experiences get me hot.” Now Bella looks constipated as well. They are constipated soul mates.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m a vampire.”

“Cool. Want to get married right after graduation?”

 

That would have changed everything. I just like the idea that there are universes in which people live with the supernatural as if it’s completely normal and nobody makes a big deal about it. It’s a really cool dynamic, and something that will hopefully set me apart.

The third story in this series will likely be the vampire whose best friend is Italian and loves garlic. I don’t know what that story will be about aside from that but it’s made me laugh every time I think about it.

This blog has been kind of ADD, so here’s a small section that I liked from my new Zombie story, “Brains”.

~~

The alarm goes off far too soon, but the smell of dog butt is strong enough to convince me to skip the snooze button dance and drag myself out of sleep.

Once again I’ve forgotten to go grocery shopping so all that’s available for breakfast is a stick of butter, half a red onion, various spices, and a week old, uncooked chicken breast.

I turn on a skillet to warm the butter and fill Xander’s bowl. He emerges from the bedroom, head bobbing and tongue lolling, at the sound of the dog food waterfalling into the metal bowl.

“Morning.” I yawn to him, cutting off a sketchy-looking section of the chicken and throwing it into the skillet with some garlic salt and pepper. “Want to hear about my date?”

Xander glances up from his bowl momentarily and makes an “harumph” sound in the back of his throat.

“Ok, so maybe Damian didn’t know it was a date, but after we fought our way out of the building he agreed to get coffee with me! I call that progress.” Flipping the chicken, I wait for Xander to chime in, but he keeps his face buried in the food and I remember that as a dog, he cannot talk. “Look, I know it’s crazy, but why can’t we be in love? Love doesn’t have to mean sex, and children, and the children inevitably becoming zombie bait if I somehow survive pregnancy. It could just mean kissing and snuggling and coffee dates and googly eyes.”

Xander “harrumph”s again and shoves his snout into his water bowl.

“Thank you for your input. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed for class.”

My puppy stares at me, as if to say “Only if by ‘get dressed for class’ you mean ‘put a bra and shoes on.’”

“Touche, Xander. Touche.”

 

Spoiler alert: the dog dies.