Zombie love songs

Here I was, mindlessly noting the feed streaming in my TweetDeck, when a tweeter mentioned the song "Pocket Full of Sunshine" in the movie Easy A. I immediately started humming and rolling the words around in my head. It was that simple. An earworm had been planted and it sucked up braincells.

How can something so basic as a song be that insidious? And how can I use this for good instead of evil in my work? I've decided the zombies need a theme song - something that brings Undead lovin' to mind when you hear it on the radio.

Contenders:

 Just a Zombie -- Taylor Swift parody

 

Zombie Love Song by ochoa830

Mickey by Toni Basil because I'm evil that way

 

And, naturally, Let's Get it On by Marvin Gaye

Do we have a clear winner? What's your choice for your WIP?

There once was a boy named Boogers McGoo

Ever wake up with a brilliant idea for a story and by the time you've made coffee, it's gone? Happens to me constantly - I'll be in that fuzzy twilight of sleep, somewhere between Daniel Craig telling me it'll only hurt a little (kerSNAP) and wondering if we're out of orange juice, when the perfect line or plot sneaks in and waggles itself at me before running off. I've tried notebooks on the bed table and get something resembling Manson Family scribbles on the pad, a voice recorder that gets more of my husband snoring or me mumbling insanities because I don't think it's running (when it is), and waking the aforementioned husband up so he'll remember for me. Yeah. That went over well.

"Bryan. BRYAAAAAAAAN. Are you up? Good. Remember this for me: Boogers McGoo."

"You want to have sex?" he said.

"No. How do you fathom that I want to have sex? I said 'Boogers McGoo.'"

"You say weird stuff all the time. I might as well get some lovin' of it."

"Shut up. Go back to sleep."

A snore ripping from him seconds later - God, I hope that was a snore - assures me he's done just that.

So, what do you do when perfection flirts with you? I don't mean Daniel Craig (at least not this time) but that line that came so easily at an inopportune time or place?

Deathwish Wynter

The US Park Service knows my name. They know my family. They have flyers posted outside the White House with our picture on it for easy reference.

We're not terrorists.

We're *that* family.

We've lived in the Washington, D.C. metro area since 1999 and as per tradition, we travel to see the National Tree on the White House lawn each week after Christmas so as to look at the new ornaments on the Oregon state tree (where we're from) and gaze in wonder at the sometimes ugly decorations on the large tree in the center of it all. There are usually hundreds of people milling around, circling the same tree, taking photos or getting warm at the giant fire pit set up at the far end of the space allocated near the grandstand where the president stood hours or days before making speeches and smiling widely at the crowds.

My daughter, Wynter, was born on Christmas day. No child has as big a heart, as wide a smile or feet that can wander off quicker. Her nickname is Deathwish Wynter due to the escapades she gets herself into; Christmas is no different, it just involved more park rangers. 

Each year, as we make our way downtown, I give the lecture, "Girls, everyone has a buddy. You will not leave your buddy's side. You will not chase trains nor climb into the Nativity Scene. Is this understood?" Naturally, they nod. They knew I had Santa's ear.

"Husband. As I have infants to carry, you are Wynter's buddy. You will not leave her side nor hold hands with good-smelling strangers like last year. Is that understood?" A brief wave of his hand didn't convince me but I had last minute breastfeeding to do; after five kids, I always have last minute breastfeeding to do...

As we approach the White House, the rangers walkie-talkie each other like Secret Service agents on alert. “The Grahams are here. Wynter is wearing a purple coat with a blueberry knit hat… quick! She’s making a run for it!” I don’t even have to walk up to the presidential platform anymore for announcements to be made, they’ve already seen my frantic dash around the tree, bobbing infant on my hip and wild look in my eyes.

A large, muscular ranger has my small person in tow, her hands occupied with unwrapping a sucker he kept in his pocket for such occasions. “Here she is, Ma’am, you may want to consider GPS next year. We’ll see you climbing into the Sculpture Garden pond in the summer, see that Lily keeps her clothes on this time.” With a nod, my tax dollars at work melts back into the crowd.

“Husband! That’s not me!” Startled, he looks from the tree to the family he’s been following for the last fifteen minutes. They’re not his. This year there will be two GPS units under the tree…

This column originally appeared at An Army of Ermas

Thar be ghosts and goblins on my mountain

I live in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, and as the skinny, twisted trees shake in the wind that punishes the mountainside, I swear I hear them. Not far from my house (literally 1/4 mile), a jet crashed in the early 1970s, killing more than 250 people aboard on a foggy night. The nosecone came to rest against a large boulder that now holds memorials and a small headstone. Houses now dot the forest where once there was only charred bits of metal and humans, my own house built five years ago on the scarred face of tragedy.

As my husband built the house, he'd tell me of being in the forest near twilight and hearing the branches snap. Footfalls far heavier than deer or woodland creatures would echo to his ear. After my family moved in, he and I would see flashes of light outside our windows, snagging the eye and fading just as quickly. I've written before about random hauntings but this was different. These, do not wander. These were at home in the forest and we were but a momentary blink in their reality.

So what the heck was that I hit in the road last week? I could have sworn it was a dirt-covered snow chunk... except it hadn't snowed yet. Square and at least eight inches tall/wide, it straddled the yellow dividing lines on the mountain road; my eyes were strained from the weak winter sunlight at dusk -- perhaps an animal -- couldn't be sure. A square, rock-solid beast that didn't squish when I winged it with a tire. I thought little of it aside from a "dang it" when I heard the knock against the car door as I passed.

My daughter and I returned thirty minutes later, discussing the subtle nuances of the song Dancing Queen (there are none) when I came upon the rock again. This time, I slowed so I wouldn't hit it... but a few feet from our passing, the rock turned and stared at me with eyes not apparent before. I yelped, to put it mildly. Then feeling horrible that I had inadvertently hurt something and we turned around to see what it was and if we could help. It had vanished. The animal/rock/goblin was gone and nary a roadkill was to be found.

Paranormal? Probably not. Freakishly weird and hoping this thing doesn't have a grudge. You bet. I know enough about Elementals* to wonder if I'd chanced upon another one of the mountain's other residents, however. Something tells me this ain't over.




*Elementals are spirits of the Earth such as pookas, fairies, banshees, goblins, etc.

TBR piles -- What's on your nightstand?

So what keeps you up at night? 

This is what's currently on my nightstand though not a full representation of my to-be-read pile. They're all in various stages of being read and savored, some have been read many times over but are too good to put back on the shelf.

I'd love to see a photo of what's on your nightstand, post it to your blog and leave the link in the comments!

TBR:
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
Fated by S.G. Browne
Night of the Living Trekkies by Kevin David Anderson
The Other Side by Marley Gibson
On Writing by Stephen King
Get Known before the Book Deal by Christina Katz
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steven Hockensmith
Motor Mouth by Janet Evanovich
Devil in a Red Kilt by Elysabeth Williams

The Dating Game

I swear I've been in the dating game - in one way or another - far longer than it looks.

One of my favorite writing jobs was at Willamette Week newspaper in Portland, Oregon a dozen years ago. I had the night shift helping to "enhance" classifieds buyers' ads looking for a date.

"So. You're an unemployed mill worker with anger issues and a severe limp. I can work with that." I said.

"Just make sure she's not fat," he replied.

"Sir, I have no control over who will respond to your ad. And what's wrong with being a little soft?" I was already drawing devil horns on his photo showing a balding, tired man with a week's worth of hit-or-miss beard growth and a dirty shirt.

"Nothing. I just can't afford to treat her right."

I erased the horns.

"No problem," I warmed up to him. "Let's see what we can do..."

Passionate man with time to spare on just the right woman is looking to snuggle up for the weekend. Time is more important than money for this lovable bear, won't you be his honey?

Another call was from a young woman who was new to the area and wanted to meet new "friends." Let's call her Trixie the Dominatrix because, to be frank, that was her stage name and she didn't want to lose customers if they came looking for her from Boise. Yes, Boise. Don't judge.

"I want it to talk about my legs. I have good legs." She started.

"Alrighty, I'll mention legs. You do know this is not an "advertisement," right? It's to find a date." I didn't want to dabble in legalities and end up her pimp.

"I got it. You just put down that I'm available from 10p-3a and to not wake up my kid when he calls." I could hear the whip cracking in the background but it could have been her gum.

Strong, leather-clad woman is looking for a new playmate. A late night rendezvous is just the thing for this woman on-the-go. Her legs were made for walkin' ---- all over your pride. kerSNAP!

"Good enough?" I asked.

"Freakin' perfect." She said.

I have no idea if Trixie found her honey bear, I prefer to not think of the mental picture that would scar my mind but have still found myself involved in hooking people up. Zombie Dating Guide, anyone?