Zombies & Supernatural: When Spooky Seeps Into Your Psyche

So…maybe I’ve been working a bit too long on writing zombie stories. And much too into Supernatural. I just saw an ad for a restaurant—a photo of barbeque ribs—and the first thought that came to mind was: Ew. Look at that charred, ripped open ribcase. Granted, it’s accurate and vegetarians the world over would agree with my assessment of “Ew.” However, I’d say it’s a sign that after I finish my novel of the zombie apocalypse, I’d best give my psyche a break and write about angels and puppy dogs and rainbows. Like that’s gonna happen. Maybe hot angels (like Supernatural’s Castiel), werewolves and, well, I can’t really think of a cool equivalent for rainbows. Although, I did, just today, start toying with the notion of a story with a hot leprechaun —sort of a Tolkienesque Elvish take on leprechauns with nothing at’all wee about these folk. Just the way my mind works.

Back to the ribs. I know exactly why my mind slid so quickly into the goriest interpretation possible: I’d just watched “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester” from Supernatural, season 4. That’s one of those episodes where vengeful ghosts tear apart those who done them wrong in life. (Lots of episodes where that happens, so not a spoiler for those who are caught up on the Winchester boys’ adventures.) Why re-watch season 4 when the new season just started this past Friday? Such a silly question. One episode a week is just not enough Dean, Sam, Bobby and Castiel.

Aside from that, I’ve been looking forward to the next half season of Walking Dead. (That’ll be a long wait, since I dropped down to just basic cable, but at least I know the new episodes will be out there soon.) Oh, and what did I do last weekend to take a break from my zombie novel? I wrote an unrelated zombie story for an eBook anthology (due out by Halloween; more on that later).

As a change of pace, I did watch the latest Doctor Who episode tonight, but it seems that didn’t take my thoughts far enough away from gore and blood. Perhaps if I watch the Pan Am pilot before I go to bed? But no. Set in a time when women turned to flying the friendly skies in form-fitting outfits to search for adventure and/or a husband—that might be the scariest scenario of the evening.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.